


Not Coming Back

by Tallulah



Category: Battle Royale (Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-10 11:03:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5583418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tallulah/pseuds/Tallulah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Class B managed to avoid the Program, but Shinji Mimura's future is still not looking bright now the Greater East Asian Republic have caught up with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They come for him at four p.m. on a Tuesday. Which is wrong for a start. Everyone knows the totalitarian forces of evil arrest you at night; wake you up by shining a torch into your face and drag you off while there's no one watching and then when the sun rises you've just disappeared. Shinji's always figured that at night, stuff like that might feel almost normal, y'know? Like a dream. But sunny afternoons are part of real life, where you know you're in a police state but nothing bad ever really happens.

Not that he'd given much thought to being arrested in the first place. You don't leave traces behind on purpose, and he's an optimistic kind of guy; sitting around worrying's for the birds. 

So he isn't worrying. It's four p.m. and he's surfing the Greater East Asian Republic's version of the Internet; which isn't a very good version, but does for chatting about basketball to kids in Hokkaido. He doesn't hear the doorbell - at least thinking back on it, he doesn't remember hearing the doorbell - but he does hear the footsteps coming up the stairs. He's got good at recognising the slow tread of his father, and the click-clack of high heels that's his mother, so he realises right away that it's someone else - no, two someones, striding up the steps in heavy boots, and coming towards his room? Then he hears his mother calling his name, actually yelling it. The last time she did that he was eight years old and she'd just found out he'd scoffed some fancy dessert she'd been planning to serve at a dinner party that night. He doesn't remember doing the sixteen-year-old equivalent of fridge-raiding, so he closes the browser window ( _u suck man the honshu giants would kick their asses_ ) and swings round to face the door just as the footsteps reach his room. 

And _oh, I get it now._

Not quite soldiers but more than police... that was something Uncle said once. Whatever. Everyone knows who they are and and what they do. 

He wants to speak, say something dumb like _what can I do you for?_ or not even that intelligent, something, _anything,_ but he can't. 

For a moment the two guys just stare at him, then one of them says, "Shinji Mimura?" _That's my name, don't wear it out._ He can't say that, either. "You're under arrest for crimes against the Greater East Asian Republic -"

"Shinji?"

His mother's reached his bedroom, Dad close behind her, and they stop and peer in as if they're worried they might be intruding on him. _Nah, it's cool, come in and meet my new pals -_ Hah, sure. Both men, with their shiny boots and crisp uniforms, look way too neat to be standing on his clothes-strewn floor - it's almost funny, like they're accidentally overdressed for the occasion. Funny except that they're both holding guns.

"On your feet," one of the men orders, and his mother gives a little gasp, steps forward. "Excuse me -" At the same moment Dad starts, "There must be some mistake -"

One of the guys snorts, as if he's despising them for being so unoriginal - the other doesn't even react, which is creepier. Instead he just jerks his head - _get a move on already._ Shinji seriously does not want to get a move on, he'd much rather come up with some sort of daring escape, but he just happens to be all out of ideas. 

His mother draws a quick, frightened breath.

 _If I do anything to piss these guys off, they'll make us all suffer for it._ S'like a punch in the gut realising that one - he'd thought he didn't need to worry about his parents that much, figured when the time came he'd cut loose and move out of their lives, but... Fuck it, family's family. _And they're scared. More scared than I am. I think._

He gets up, catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the open wardrobe door. He looks perfectly normal - there's even a faint grin flickering on his lips as if this is all a big joke that no one else has got yet. _Be nice if it was. Geez,_ he thinks at his reflection, _have you not worked it out yet? We're seriously screwed -_

One of the men marches towards him, grabs his arms and yanks them behind his back. His parents are still watching him - as is his reflection - but as the guy slaps the cuffs on, Shinji sees his mother go pale, and his reflection's smile seems to crack a little, so he lets his gaze rise up to the edge of the room; above the movie posters to where the wall joins the ceiling. The cuffs pinch. _You know that's only the start of it,_ his brain chips in helpfully, _you know the kind of shit they pull once they take you away._ Okay, so maybe he is scared, but - _c'mon, stay frosty! C'mon, getting scared's what they want_ _-_

The man grabs him by the shoulder, pushes him forward.

As they shove past his parents and back towards the stairs, his father begins to speak. "Um... excuse me, I... I'm sure that you and your organisation are perfectly, uh, competent, but... possible misinformation... perhaps?" They're all moving down the stairs now, the two men striding so fast Shinji nearly trips a couple of times. It hits him that if all the rumours are true, he might be better off seeing if he _can_ fall and break his neck, but as he thinks that he knows he can't, not just because it would be giving in but because actually trying would mean admitting what was gonna happen, facingit, and every time he tries his mind just veers away from it as if it's too hot to touch. His dad's still talking. "My brother was... a known dissident, and I admit that... that Shinji was allowed to spend far too much time with him, but..." Nearly at the front door. _I should be taking more of this in..._ It's not like he's gonna be back here, is it? But he can't. It's just their house _,_ he's lived here all his life; his schoolbag at the bottom of the stairs, the faint mark on the carpet where he threw up after experimenting with his dad's drinks cabinet, the sun streaming through the frosted glass of the front door - and now the government's forced its way in and stuff should've changed somehow but it hasn't. _Yeah, of course they chose to come at this time; four p.m. messes with your head way more._ "You don't think perhaps there's some..." His father's voice trails off. Which is good - the guy may bug Shinji a lot of the time but that doesn't mean he likes hearing the stammering, the desperation, having it rubbed in that no, no one is gonna be able to sort this out. It's... embarrassing. It's a lot of other things too, but embarrassing is the easiest to understand.

"No mistake," one of the men says. Shinji thinks it might be the one who didn't react earlier, but he's not sure. "Cyber-theft of official state secrets. Happened about a month ago, traced back to this address. Your son's association with undesirable elements is already on record."

His parents go even paler than they already are, and his mother hisses "Shinji!" like this _is_ about nothing more than fridge-raiding or crappy grades. Dad's shoulders droop, and Shinji half-expects him to come out with _I'm very disappointed in you, son_ or something; but no, nothing.

And then he glances at his mother and she's _crying._ That's embarrassing too. Huh, he never thought embarrassment'd be something to worry about when you're getting busted. But it's more than that, nastier; okay, he doesn't think much of them but they're still his parents, they deserve to at least have lip service paid to the belief that they're the final authority over him. He doesn't wanna see 'em being just as powerless as he is right now.

And then the front door's open and he's being shoved forward towards the van parked next to Dad's car. His parents have stumbled out after them, but they stop as they see that van, don't come any closer. Shinji can't blame 'em. He doesn't want to go any closer either. Everyone knows what happens to people who get taken off in those. Actually, thinking about it, no one knows what _happens,_ but everyone knows you don't see the people who go into them ever again.

As his parents vanish into the distance behind him - seems much further than just across the driveway - he hears his mother say something like "But I thought after he wasn't on the Program..." and then her voice breaks up; little sniffs, because the neighbours might still be listening, but she's still crying, and he's almost glad to be out of earshot. 

_You know, guys, this'd be a lot easier if you weren't picking now to show you actually care. Crying and admitting Uncle wasn't the most upright of citizens - what happened to preserving face? Pity -_

The van door slams behind him, and they're gone.

***

There was another kid brought in with him. This is a juvenile interrogation centre, although it doesn't look like they're making any concessions towards the youthfulness of the inhabitants. The building looks very clean, there are no windows, and the whole place is choked with bright light. Makes a difference from the darkness of the van at any rate. 

And now he and this other kid, who looks like a regular guy, about his age, are kneeling, hands on their heads, waiting for something which probably isn't gonna be any better than what's happening now. They're both wearing dull blue shirts and trousers; Shinji's willing to bet his own clothes have either been incinerated or donated to the nearest jumble sale, _no one ever comes back, remember?_ They made him hand over Uncle's earring, too, which stings more'n it should. _Only a damn earring for fuck's sake, not important..._ Did this kind of stuff ever happen to his uncle? Okay, so no one ever comes back, but... _you never know, maybe they're wrong. Maybe people do make it out... and yeah, sure, maybe they'll let me go cos I've got such a lovely personality. Get a grip, since when was I such a pipe-dreamer?_ The clothes smell slightly of sweat. Shinji wonders what happened to the last person to wear them and then figures he doesn't want to know.

Above them the strip light hums. Two guards stand at the door of the... cell? _Too big to be a cell,_ he finds himself thinking. _Not that there's anything official..._ okay, call it a room. His ankles and knees ache and his arms are burning with pins and needles and his feet went numb ages ago but he figures that's sort of the point, keep you waiting, making you scared and sore and then - 

He can hear the other kid's shaky breathing. His own seems perfectly normal, and he can feel he's still got the slight smile on his lips. Fair enough. _Don't give 'em the satisfaction, right?_ And the other kid keeps looking across at him, he can feel the nervous gaze. There's no clock on the room. What'll the guards do if one of them keels over or just lets their arms drop? _Probably kick our teeth in for a start._

The other kid is almost whimpering now. Didn't look like a jock, so maybe this position's getting to him more than it is to Shinji. _Not that I **want** to spend much longer in it. If I got the choice. _Shinji glances round, meets the other boy's eyes. For a moment they stare at each other, then the boy swallows, and whispers, "You scared?"

"Silence!" The guard on the left roars it. Shinji quickly turns his head back to the front, but now he's conscious of the boy next to him. _You scared?_ He thought he was, but... this kid's clearly scareder. Which helps. Kinda. 

He remembers when they were brought in the kid tripped, and one of the guards laughed. He remembers it reminded him of Yutaka. 

He looks round again just as the other boy does. Makes himself grin, and whispers, "It'll be okay -"

The guard moves way too quickly for such a big guy. Shinji looks round to see him inches away and then the next moment something - the guy's truncheon - has slammed down into his nose. He's sent flying, cracking his head on the wall behind him, and lies there, staring up at the blank ceiling. For a few moments, there's nothing - tears are welling up in his eyes, but for no reason it feels like. No pain, just a sense of _wait, what happened?_ This close to the floor, he notices the tiles stink of disinfectant; he breathes in the sharp smell, and _then_ the aching starts, ringing through his head, pounding in his eyes. 

The other boy whimpers. The guard nudges Shinji with a foot. "Get up. Hands on your head." _Or else - yeah, fill in the blanks._ Shinji pulls himself back into a kneeling position, raises his tired arms. The blood is running down onto his lower lip - he licks at it as the guard walks back to the door. His own breathing is raspy now, and he can hear the blood bubbling in the back of his throat. 

_Don't think about it._ 'It' being not just the current pain but the certainty that things won't be improving any time soon. _Think smart. Know the enemy, remember? That's what they're counting on, fact we don't know what to expect. At least put together some kind of... strategy. If they're gonna... make it hurt, what do they want? Actual information, or just... just to teach us a lesson; you know, two plus two is five and all that schtick._ Once _1984_ had been nothing more than a downer of a banned book Uncle had let him read over the summer; the thought of it still makes him remember the taste of Coke, even through the blood in his mouth. Now it looks like he's gonna be living it, and of all the books to be re-enacting that's probably his worst choice. _Hurting enough already..._ The ache in his nose is throbbing in time with that in his arms and back. His back's the worst - like a nail being hammered into his spine. How long have they been here? _Don't think about it. C'mon, information. Have I got information?_ There's the hacking sites and forums, the embedded worm; the detonator still hanging from his key chain; that backstreet record store where Shuuya buys illegal music; small fry, right? _Please say it's small fry. C'mon, they probably found all that out themselves!_

The detonator. The detonator and the woman who gave it to him. Is that small fry? He can't tell _._ She knew what his uncle was involved in. Would she know more? Would they think she knew more? Perhaps. The blood's drying on his mouth now - itches. _Can't risk it. If they thought she did - can't. Dunno if it's small fry, and you can't just goof about when it's people's lives..._

When the chips are down you've got to do the right thing.

He feels sick suddenly. He doesn't _want_ to do the right thing. He never does the right thing, he does the thing which looks like it'll be the most fun at the time. This does not look like it's going to be fun at all so why the hell can't he just spill his guts and not care about it?

But he knows why. It isn't so much about pangs of conscience - not like it'd be for Shuuya or Sugi or Yutaka, anyway. It's just - it's just - huh, maybe it's just cos of Uncle, and the sites, and working on hacking stuff on his own: _I always knew sooner or later there'd be a challenge, sooner or later I'd have to pick a side. Just didn't think it'd be like this._ When he'd said to Uncle _I want in_ he'd meant it.

 _And since when have I ever pussied out on a game, anyway?_ He _can't_ turn her in, because he doesn't do that kind of shit. There's always a line, right? Like... like Keita Iijima at the arcade. Sure, not helping out in a fight is the easiest option, but he still wouldn't take it, and that's what makes him different from guys like that. _I can't do it. This time I **do** have to do the right thing. _

Conscience sucks. The choice sits in his stomach like a bad burger, but at least he's made it now.

Seems like ages later the door opens and another guard says to bring that one along, and points at him. _Right, this is it._ They haul him to his feet, cuff him again; he can hardly stand, but he bites his lip - still tasting of blood - and tries to make it look like it's no big deal. _Don't give 'em the satisfaction, don't give 'em the satisfaction, just don't -_ as they go he glances back at the other boy, who's so pale he looks like he might actually faint. Skin the colour of the walls. _I know how you feel._

***

The office is also surprisingly clean, all except the desk, which is covered in papers and half-filled ashtrays. The man behind it looks up as they enter, smiles - he's got a fat, jowly face, thick lips, and he's the first official Shinji's seen not dressed in a uniform, wearing instead a worn-looking suit and tie. 

He nods to the guards; there's a click, and Shinji feels his hands freed. Another nod, and he's pushed down into the chair opposite the desk. Pressing a hand to his upper lip - his nose is still bleeding, little dribbles of blood every time he breathes - he watches as the man leafs through the papers and folders on the desk and draws out a file. 

"Shinji Mimura," he murmurs. Opens the folder - Shinji leans forward a little and spots his school photograph lying on top of the papers. He remembers getting that one done - Yutaka had said _How come you're the only one who looks normal?_ Shinji had grinned, replied, _I just imagined it was Souma behind the camera. Souma without the evil, that is._ And Shuuya had demanded _what do you mean, Mim's the only one who looks normal? I look all right,_ and Shinji had said _you look like what you are, a Springsteen wannabe -_

He bites down on his lip again. _Can't afford to think about this, not now._ Will the guys know what happened? Yutaka was meant to be coming round tomorrow. _Can't keep fucking dwelling on it, come on, I'm in this moment now. Even if this moment sucks -_

"From Shiroiwa Junior High..." The man looks up, smiles. "I would've run into you earlier this year, then."

"You - would?" He sounds like he's got a bad cold, and as he speaks more blood snuffles from his nose. 

"Your school was on the Program shortlist. There were... security issues, though, so we changed location at the last minute. Would you know anything about that?"

 _We nearly **were** on the fucking Program. Shit. _ Shinji swallows, and, really to stop himself comparing near misses and current problems, says, "I don't know what you're talking about. Why would I have met you, anyway? You run the welcoming committee?"

"In a manner of speaking. This - " The man waves a hand airily round at the little office - "is just moonlighting. Still, I'm sure it'll be just as fulfilling as what could have been." He finishes sifting through the papers. "So. Cyber insurrection. How very twenty-first century."

Shinji doesn't say anything. The man smiles, shakes his head. "Oh, don't kid yourself there's anything to be proved. Once you're in this place, you're officially guilty of everything. The only reason I'm talking to you now is to establish how you might mend your ways and become an asset to the Greater East Asian Republic... so refusing to acknowledge your crimes will be of little help."

"Ah. See, I'm not planning to become an asset to the Republic in any way, shape or form," Shinji makes himself say. "I guess that's where our views diverge, right?"

A wide smile, as if Shinji's said something pleasing. "How right you are, Mr Mimura. Am I to take it from this that you're intending to make things difficult for yourself? A personable young man like you... it seems a shame."

 _Make things difficult... go figure._ But that's exactly what he does have to do, right? _If - if I don't give 'em anything it'll take longer for them to drag it out of me and - and maybe she'll have found out I got busted, she'll go into hiding or flee the country or something and then if I do crack it'll be okay,_ not that he's _planning_ to crack, it'd make him sick letting this bastard win, but - 

Fuck, he's _scared._ He can't remember the last time he's been this scared. But to hell with it. _At least start out pretending it's gonna be fine -_

He shrugs.

"All right, if that's what you want. It'll only waste both our time..." The man gets to his feet. "Well, I say _waste_. It'll be an amusing diversion for me, a... possibly less amusing one for you, but the results will be the same in the end, I promise you."

"Yeah, you just keep believing that." He actually manages to smile this time. 

The man smiles back at him. "Oh, this is going to be a good one. I can feel it." He nods to the guards again. They step forward, wrench Shinji to his feet.

***

_I can feel it. Oh hell I can feel it._

But it's stopped now. He's in a cell - an actual cell this time, only about six foot square - and the room is hissing with static and the lights blaze and two guards, _always two isn't it_ stand there making him kneel with his hands on his head instead of sleep and even the touch of his hair against his fingers makes them hurt _though not half as bad as it was when I was still in there; always a bright side, you know?_ He doesn't know what time it is. He doesn't want to think about what he doesknow, because none of it's good.

_Frosty._

He slumps every so often; arms and legs almost numb now. When he does one of them orders him up. If he doesn't get up right then, they kick him or punch him until he makes himself struggle back onto his knees. But he's only done it a few times. He can hang in there and _not letting 'em see it hurts, **doesn't** hurt, doesn't -_

 _'Sides, I won. First skirmish and I won._ No, not skirmish, first play-off, think of it like a game _even though it sure as hell doesn't feel like one, a game is two people playing not one doing it to the other -_ bites his lip. Flecks of dried blood on it still, and his whole face is aching with the pain from his busted nose. _I can do this. Swear I can. When it comes down to it s'me making the choice to start talking and they can't rip the words outta my mouth so ball's in my court, right?_

His left arm drops. One of the guards glances at him, but he manages to raise that arm again. _Gotta get more practice in seeing through the pain, right, gonna be needing it -_

Kamon - he'd introduced himself right before they started - _I imagine we'll be seeing a lot of each other in the next few days._ Sick fuck, _getting off on it -_ certainly been listening hard enough. Shinji had tried so fucking hard not to cry out, _not gonna let him get any more of a kick out of this than he already is -_ too difficult, though, in the end. Well, no - hadn't been a choice, he'd just realised he'd been gasping, whimpering, without noticing. Not that he'd been in a mood to start picking out little details. _Didn't scream. Didn't scream, didn't tell 'em anything. That's - that's what's important. And I've done it once now, I can do it again, got to -_

He's slumping to the ground. Not even choosing to do it, just every so often his body says _fuck it, I'm giving up._ This time he can't lift his arms - so heavy, pins and needles beneath the skin weighing 'em down... _I can't, I can't do it -_

_Oh, and when you gotta stay silent next time you'll be all 'I can't do that either'?_

One of the guards has already taken the steps towards him and he's curling up even before the guy's boot catches him in the stomach. _Tense the muscles, c'mon, like Uncle said..._ He hears his breathing spasm, tastes bile as he retches, but that's helped, _woken me up,_ and besides now the guard's so close he can say _fuck you_ and that helps him drag himself up. He reckons this'll go on until he passes out. Or maybe after, maybe they'll slap him awake and make him get right back to it. _No quarter given. Well, none fucking asked for. Come on, think about something else, not the pain, there isn't any pain, okay?_ Even thinking the word hurts - 

(When they were through the door Kamon said "So... let's get on with it. Which hand do you write with?" and Shinji so very nearly asked _why the hell do you wanna know that_ and then the next second his imagination gave him some answers and he wondered whether he'd actually throw up if it was right. And Kamon, shrugging, was already studying the file: "Unco-operation for its own sake, how juvenile - ah, the left. Well, we may as well begin with that - it's as good a reason as any, hmm?" And then -)

Shinji bites down hard on his lower lip. _This moment. In this moment now and I can hack it, not gonna let 'em win..._ Think about something else. _Didn't throw up, either. Man, I'm on a roll... No, not gonna think about it!_ Something else. Anything. 

The Program. Had that been true, had they really been almost picked for it? Or had it been bullshit to mess with his head; rub it in how superior the government were, _we could have just said the word and you and everyone you know would be dead_... But Kamon had said something about a security leak, so maybe it had been true, maybe he'd been after information. _Huh, that's something I **am** innocent of - _sure, he'd been sniffing around the Program data, trying to find some way of messing with it, but only this year. _When we were still in the running I was out there playing b-ball and figuring nothing would go wrong,_ because worrying's for the birds, remember? _Fuck_ he's aching all over now. _Frosty, stay frosty._

Guess I didn't cover my tracks - he's still not sure what tipped them off. He's got way better at hacking into systems these last few months. _Thought I could do it. Well... guess I thought wrong and now here I am and -_ nuh-uh, not going there, remember? _Something else, something else - okay, so what **did** I screw up on? _ He'd checked everything, picking through for bugs way long after he figured he'd got 'em all. _Didn't go through enough? But you can't spend the rest of your life being nothing more'n an editor. In the end you gotta just go for it. And take your lumps if you're wrong._ Putting it like that makes it sound like this is nothing worse than double cleaning duty or extra laps or something. _Just keep thinking like that and - and -_ then what? He can think all he wants but it won't change shit - _no. Think about the code instead. I mean it._

 _Wish Uncle could've been around while I was writing it, anyway. He would've called me on it if he did think I was slacking._ He wonders again if Uncle ever went through this kind of shit. _Wish I'd asked him more about what happened before I knew him. Huh. Would've done if I'd known he wasn't gonna be around so long. Would've done if I'd known **I** wasn't gonna be around so long... no, c'mon, let's not start working out how much time all this'll take. _ He wonders what happened to the kid who was brought in with him; whether he cracked after the first minute, or maybe didn't even try and hold onto the information, maybe they didn't need to hurt him at all; _oh, sorry, Kamon, I mean 'apply persuasion techniques'._ Yeah - the kid looked like the type who'd break if you yelled at him enough. _Bet they let him sleep after that -_ his own eyes ache, itchy, like he's rubbed sand into them, and he yearns to rub a hand across them, but the guards are still watching _and this is nothing, all of it is nothing, so stop thinking about it._

(Kamon had been smiling all the way through; smiling, watching him and smoking. "It isn't going to get any better," he'd said after the first few... minutes? Hours? Already it's too hard to work that out. "Sure you wouldn't like to reconsider?" Shinji had swallowed - his mouth was full of spit and blood - and then heard his own voice, oddly slurred as if he was half-asleep: "Bring it on, motherfucker." Kamon had laughed, and Shinji had wondered if anything he said would actually rattle the guy -)

He really _wants_ to rattle Kamon. The smirking and watching role is _his_ role. _S'Shuuya or... yeah, s'Shuuya... freaking out about stuff. Shuuya freaking out and Yutaka goofing around an'... an' Sugi being all embarrassed and Yoshi trying to get Shu to... chill._ Surely his parents will tell Yutaka where he's gone... but then what? _No point in coming like the cavalry, guys... not that y'would, right? Got... got own lives... hey, got lives. Better'n Program. Still rather have this than that._

Black spots are opening up in front of his eyes. _S'if acid spilt on the world... huh, wonder if they're gonna bring out the acid tomorrow?_ The last thing he remembers is looking up at the glowing light above him - so he must have fallen again - and thinking _well, whaddaya know... it really is the place where there is no darkness._

***

It isn't all the days being the same; it's one day being played over and over again. Okay, sometimes things are different; air slightly warmer or cooler, different questions asked, varying techniques so he doesn't get complacent - that was something Kamon said - but Shinji's sure it's all the same day underneath because whenever he looks around he's exactly where he was the last time and nothing he's done before has made any difference. Or maybe it's not that it repeats, maybe it is only one long day and it just seems like more time's passing because, well, time drags when you're not having fun, right? You can't see the sky in here and the lights never go off and the only person who talks to him is Kamon who isn't letting anything slip... it's as if he's the only prisoner here, as if everyone else, that kid and all, spilled their guts and got chewed up and spat out into a place where they leave you alone and now he's the only one left.

Every so often they do let him doze but only for a few hours, or maybe a few minutes, or maybe they don't _let_ him at all, maybe he's only ever blacking out and in too deep to be revived immediately. Whatever, one long day - explain why it hurts so much getting to the end of it. _Hah, when I do it'll be Wednesday and maybe I can catch Yutaka 'fore he leaves -_

 _When you do?_ He's awake again now, kneeling, and waiting because it feels like it was at least a few hours since he last saw Kamon so someone'll be along to collect him pretty soon. _When you do? When's that gonna be? When you crack and spill your guts?_ He wishes he could be so sure that wasn't gonna happen. _Don't give me the fucking choice -_ sooner or later he will crack, he'll say anything rather'n let them take him through that door again - _but it's not gonna be today, get it? Won't let it be today, even if today's never over -_

The cell door opens again and despite himself he feels sick, and his fingers, gripping the back of his head, tangled in his hair and still sore, tense. _Won't let it be today._ The guard looks at him - a jerk of the head - and he forces himself to stand. Actually, isn't so bad standing because it means being able to let his arms drop and the blood flow freely through his legs without getting a kick in the head for it. _Yeah. 'F I just keep thinking about **now** , not five minutes in the future, just now, I can walk this. Sure. _His body's not getting with that particular program, though; he still feels like he's gonna throw up, and his heartbeat's pounding in his ears as they drag him forward. _Will you cool down? It's gonna be bad enough without you making yourself freak out too! Think about now. Now's all right, y'know?_ They're marching him down the corridor; he's starting to learn the route now, despite there being very little to notice that's not blank white doors and strip lighting. Actually, the lighting reminds him of school - there're similar bulbs in the corridor to the principal's office, and the sports hall. _Man, actually wanting to be back at school? I must have it bad - but you gotta admit, the people are better company._ Yutaka and Shuuya and Sugi and Yoshi... the five of them walking back from gym, Yutaka doing impressions of how everyone had looked during the game, Shuuya being all over-enthusiastic about it, Yoshi and Sugi laughing, _geez, when did I start getting so mushy? And I thought I was supposed to be staying with reality..._ and they're nearly there, he recognises this now, the glass partition in the office door, _I can't. I'll take gym class instead - c'mon, guys, stay with me?_

And now he's inside, sitting, waiting, staring at a half-filled Styrofoam cup of coffee. _I can do this._ Listening to his own breathing, which is trying to speed up, get scared. _Nuh-uh, work with me here. I can do this._ Yutaka turning to grin at him: _Well, you never miss, Mim, so I don't know what you're worried about._ Yoshi: _Yeah. I mean, Shu should be way more stressed, right? Being so over-enthusiastic and everything, his success rate's only ever about fifty percent._ And Shuuya being mock-outraged, _excuse me? It's at least seventy-five!_ Sugi just smiling, and saying _uh-huh. Well, sixty, anyway -_

"How nice to see you again, Mr Mimura." Kamon's sauntered in, another cup of coffee in his pudgy hands. Is there actually a coffee machine somewhere in the building, tucked away between two cell doors? Kamon drinks enough to make it a worthwhile investment -

"You're not looking so perky as you were when we first met." Kamon sits down, takes a slurp of coffee, leans forward. "Are our little discussions instilling any respect? Or are you still kidding yourself it's worth persisting? You know you only have to say the word."

 _Shut up, just shut the fuck up and stop asking me that!_ Sharp hope in his chest, _it could stop, it could all stop, no big deal, just gotta say a few words, good at that - **frosty! Focus!**_ He grits his teeth. _See past yourself,_ Uncle says. And Shuuya again: _I know you can do it, we're counting on you -_

"Fuck you." He forces the words out before he can think about them. _Only this moment -_ Sugimura grins. _Well, I guess we all know where we stand now, Mim._ And his own voice, from that gym class: _calling you an asshole would be redundant..._ He wants to say it, but _nuh-uh, we don't use the same comeback twice..._ Jaguar kneeling on the gym floor. _I'm not screaming as much as him. Hey, I wonder what this lot could do to my eyes if they wanted to?_

Kazuo Kiriyama murmuring _not blood. Murky, but not blood -_

_Don't think like that! This moment. This reality. Frosty -_

A voice in the back of his mind sneers _oh, sure, this reality. There's no one here but you and the bastard with the coffee, or did you forget?_ But he doesn't care, he doesn't care how sappy or weird it is letting 'em talk to him, _lack of sleep probably, that's all it is, well, fine. I gotta have some perks._

"Aw. A sad lack of eloquence." Kamon is smiling. "Ah well. Sooner or later we'll loosen that tongue. Preferably later - you must admit it's entertaining watching you in there." A sigh. "Let's not linger. Come along."

 _Like I got a fucking choice -_ and this is it, _no different from how it normally is,_ the guards pulling him to his feet. It's hard to stand now. _Stay with it. Ball's in your court._ And since when has he let himself get scared by anything? _Since I realised how bad they can make it when they want information. See past yourself, I mean it, don't you dare start acting like a little kid now!_ The five of them walking down a corridor - _hey, guys, take a rain check, this isn't gonna be pretty -_

***

This time he's screaming. Trying to choke it down, eat the pain, but _can't_ it keeps it keeps coming back and he keeps _noticing_ it, _what's the fucking point in that I **know** what's happening, _ if his brain would only get bored of passing on the info and _give up, go on, just say it and then this can stop it can stop it can all stop_ and _no! Not this time like hell this time_ and the screams are breaking up, reforming into curses and that makes him feel a bit better, cursing's okay, _doesn't mean they broke me just means I'm really pissed off_ it's just _it hurts it hurts stop thinking that! Fucking moron, stop **saying** it - _

Stops, for a moment it stops. Voices - Kamon is speaking to him but the ringing in his ears and his own gasps, deep, frightened, _fucking scared,_ drown it out. The gasps remind him of that time he and Yutaka saw a stray dog snarling at them from across the street - _midget wanted to go see if it was okay, idiot -_ deep breaths, _trapped,_ he'd said, _you know they say 'like a cornered dog' for a reason -_ he doesn't wanna hear what Kamon's got to say cos it'll only be _you can make it stop, you know you can_ and he doesn't need that right now. His teeth are chattering a little, but it's not cold... just the air cool on his face, stroking the sweat on his forehead and back of his neck. _In the gym; they're getting their asses kicked against some rival school and he's saying how they can win it and Hatagami's all 'yeah right' and then Shu gets right in there with another pep talk. Always pulling that kinda junk... 'Shoot for the moon, nothing less...'_

_Man, I could - could really use a pep talk now, Shu, how about it, huh? 'Cept it won't work cos you're not really here and I was never so good with the inspiring speeches crap -_

Kamon sighs, shakes his head. Just the tail-end of the sentence: "... won't co-operate, there's only one option left..." Sometimes it's the waiting that's the worst, not being in the cell but _this_ time, in the one or two seconds before it starts again where he can remember what it felt like, knows it's coming, but there's still that _hope_ because he doesn't hurt right at this moment. In this time he _could_ crack, he knows it, and then he starts wondering how he's held out so long - 

_It's all superficial,_ his aunt murmurs, and he almost smiles. _Not this, not right now. When it's worth it, I can put the effort in -_

***

So what if he ends up saying _Hey, guys, I..._

_Actually, I don't think I can do it after all?_

Makes himself picture their faces, which are already blurring in his mind as if his life up to now was never more than a dream to begin with. _Perhaps it was, and see, cos they don't let me sleep I can't get back... fuck_ he's so tired. Floor keeps feeling like it'll tilt any second and if it does he'll fall, _gotta stay up, keep_ _kneeling, don't give 'em satisfaction..._ and he's lost the faces again. _Focus!_ Them looking at him - all of them, Shuuya and Yutaka and Yoshi and Sugi and his uncle and aunt all gazing down at him, _we're so disappointed in you, son._

I've got to be able to do it - 

But the screaming. The screaming is seriously starting to bother him now; it's... creeps him out, he sounds like... well, no, still sounds human but... you listen to it and, and you don't wanna admit it's happening and - _that's not me,_ part of his brain always says, _can't be me, I don't freak out like that,_ and then the next moment he's plunged back into himself and _oh fucking hell yes it is._

And now he can't hold back on that, he knows it's the beginning of the end. Because he's _always_ been able to take pain; getting into fights or slamming his thumb in a door or busting his wrist after an over-enthusiastic b-ball game... always been able to hack it, smile, joke; maybe curse a little but _now - everybody bails in the end, right, Unc? Tell me everyone wusses out sooner or later. Tell me it isn't just me..._ He can hardly remember what his uncle looked like. That never used to be a problem before but now - none of their faces are real, they're just blurred photographs in his head, or bad drawings. _Shouldn't... shouldn't matter, shouldn't need other people for this. Just... my call to speak. Nothing more'n do I keep my mouth shut or not, so..._

He can't remember what he was trying to think. Too much light... makes him feel sick being under neon twenty-four-seven. And so many _thoughts_ and yet he can't put any of them into words, they're just _things_ , crawling around him in the cell, wriggling through the walls. _How... how c'n you have thoughts and not know what they are? I mean, s'my brain, right? I should know what's in it... they wanna know what's in it, so I oughta be able to..._

He's just so tired. Gone past aching with it now, more like he's drowning in... in lack of sleep. _Alla thoughts filling up the room... sucking out the air. Can't go on like this? Well, I'm gonna have to... s'my call to speak. Gonna do it, have to... don't think about... about going on. Just about now, not dead right now..._ But no matter how hard he tries he does keep thinking about going on and every time he does he sees less time left before the last scraps of memory are torn out and he forgets why he bothered to stay silent in the first place.

***

How long has it been? Kamon... Kamon doesn't seem bothered, like he doesn't seem to _care_ that they're still doing this. _Well... he wouldn't, he... he likes it..._

Talking now. _Me sitting in the office always listening... he's the one who's s'posed to be listening, right?_ _You're boring,_ he wants to sneer, but... throat too dry. _Too much screaming, y'know? Should've kept your mouth shut..._

"It breaks my heart to see you suffering like this."

 _So... fuckin' patronising. And... he likes it, you can tell... perv. He gets off on pain and... hah... the Dictator likes women in uniform._ There are other jokes like that, but... he can't remember what they are. Wishes he could. _Hey guys... maybe when it... when it... I mean, maybe I won't remember anything, won't know what to say. 'So... how d'you turn this computer thing on... huh?'_ The thought makes him smile, and even that movement's almost too much. 

"I wouldn't kid yourself you're anything special." Shake of the head. "Look at you. So... full of life when we first met, and now... well, I doubt you'll be up to playing basketball any time soon." A pause. "Not that you'll be doing that again anyway."

 _Save talking for... when it matters._ If he opens his mouth to curse the guy out he might find suddenly he's spilling his guts... _nothing... nothing connected now, y'know? Like... thoughts all outside, time messed up... words all stuck together._ And no faces, no more people to walk with _but that's... that's okay, cos... too much thinking... gotta... conserve strength, yeah?_ So... how long has it been? _Matters. Does. Cos... cos three days, say, that's... pussying out after three days, what the hell? Better'n that. But three weeks... three months... 'sabout average, I'd say._ 'Cept being average sucks... _everyone makes'a clutch shot sometimes, but I... alla time... average, though, on average everyone's gotta screw up sooner or later?_

Kamon's stopped talking now, anyway, which means that any moment now... _no, **this** moment now. C'mon... I was thinking stuff, good stuff... yeah, so what, everyone's gotta screw up? Nah, doesn't work that way... not like y'can say, say you're **allowed** some screw-ups. Y'gotta **try.**_ Through that door, hands dragging him forward, _too fast,_ and the floor rocks violently beneath him and the jolt seems to jerk through his entire body like electricity. _No not yet - blacking out..._ but after a few moments the sour darkness pulls back from his eyes and _no, still here, don't wanna be here_ but he's too tired to think about anywhere else. Snatches at another thought before the future can get into his head - _huh, blacking out already? 'fore they even... not even... lame, real lame._

Although is there an already, really? If time's all screwed, then... _hah, government controls time. 'F you control the present you control the past... is that it? No, s'other way round..._ he's scrabbling at the quote, trying to remember it, because if he doesn't he'll think about real stuff, _'f you control the present you control the future... is it that?_ and he mustn't think about real stuff, not right now, because -

One last pain-free second and then he's falling down into it and _not just me, the world -_ world becomes pain and _I gotta live in it_ and then all the stupid, tired thoughts get swept away by the same old _no no stop stop_ that anyone would think. Screams pouring from him like sweat and all he can see when he's not got his eyes shut is the fucking light and Kamon smirking and it hurts and it won't stop and why won't it stop _make it make it stop please **please make it stop -**_

" _All right!_ All right, I -" and Kamon raises a hand and they stare at each other in the sudden quiet. 

_Stopped. It - I made it -_ words just leapt out of him but - he's trembling but it has stopped, it has - 

"Was there something you wanted to say, Mr Mimura?"

Not supposed to say anything, right, but... _didn't choose it, just..._

Got to make it stop. No. Stay stopped. Say stuff - 

"I... I did it. The..." Then his throat dries up. _Stay stopped, it'll - gotta -_ he swallows; spit tastes sour and he still can't get the words out. _No more -_

Kamon looks at him, almost pityingly, and says, "Throw me a bone here; what exactly are we talking about?" Reaches across; he often has a glass of water to sip because... _too hot in here, always too hot... still, something to look at that's not... him. Ugly bastard..._ been staring at the light glittering in the water for so long that he's almost surprised that it's got coolness and taste in his dry mouth... _something not hurting. Better..._

"You have five seconds to prove this isn't a delaying tactic."

Desperately, he wrenches up some words. "The hacking. The one you brought me in for, I... it _was_ me. You asked, and..." His voice trails off. _S'right... right?_

"Well, that doesn't tell me anything I didn't already know, but it's nice to see a gesture of co-operation. Anything else you'd like to add before we continue?"

 _Continue._ Still trembling, and now it gets worse... _Have I been doing that all along? Damn, worse than screaming..._ furious, he clenches his fist, gripping the trembling like... _like holdin' a snake. Hah._

"For instance," Kamon continues, "I can't help noticing that there appeared to be a detonation device on your keyring. That's hardly a regular fashion accessory. Care to elaborate on it?"

They must've searched his room or something... _didn't give 'em keys. Gave 'em the earring... but that's okay... Uncle didn't give either though, right, not really._ He dimly remembers that's the important bit, that Uncle _didn't_ give him the detonator. _Cos he's dead. Huh, they don't pull this shit with him, just... push him off the map... why couldn't they've done that with me?_ He doesn't know what to do, he _said_ he wasn't gonna crack and he isn't, but he doesn't know what to say instead, _you have to say stuff, when you say stuff they stop but I'm not sayin' **that** -_

"No? Shame -"

_Not again it's gotta stay stopped!_

Like electricity again _only not -_ but suddenly all the thoughts light up and he sees - he sees what to say - _like - like when you spot an opening, down the court and everyone's all 'wow I didn't see that coming' -_

"My uncle gave it to me," he hears himself say.

_'Didn't see that coming, you the man, Mim -'_

Because they _can't get Uncle now._

But Kamon just nods, and smirks as if it confirms something he already knew. Is it something he already knew? _Maybe it was Uncle, really, maybe I just made all the other stuff up. Huh, and they knew all the time? Fucking bastards, they... didn't need to even **bother...**_

But so what? Because they can't get Uncle so it doesn't matter. _This doesn't matter. They want me to say stuff, I can say this stuff, cos this stuff doesn't matter..._

"When?" Kamon says.

He so nearly says _after he died._ Just in time, grabs that sentence and... still trembling. _Fuck, stay with it. This doesn't matter, remember?_ "Before he died. A... a few months before. Didn't tell me what... just said... use it when things got ugly..." He stops, scared that more words are gonna rush out and start explaining that really it was his aunt and this is all bullshit. _Oh hell... what if Kamon notices I just..._ but no, not looking suspicious, just nodding, writing stuff down. 

_This is all bullshit, but it doesn't matter._

_'You the man!'_ Nah, this time it isn't on the court, it's... _Iijima. Iijima and the arcade and... Coke._ Seems like years since he last thought of that. _Well... ain't like I had the time to waste on him, is it? Huh. He knew bullshit too... I would've bought into it if I hadn't seen. Or... I dunno, maybe not... he was too nervous. Shoulda... shoulda played it cool, like I do._

Play it cool. Another memory - just before summer break, massive science project due in. _Yeah, and I was... after that girl, y'know, whatshername, lived way out of town... 'a lot of travelling, know what I mean?'_ he'd said to the guys. _Too much travelling, not enough... science._ And talking to Hayashida, _s'difficult... schoolwork and sporting commitments. On and on and on... just bullshit there too. But... ain't like I dunno what to say, is it?_ Even now, when every thought's an effort. _Yoshi saying he can't believe Hayashida fell for it... and I said some of us just got the knack... yeah, that's it..._

 _I still got it. Right? I still got it, just don't let the bastard know... keep lookin' tired, yeah like that's difficult. Look tired and think... not-tired._

"So how did you find out what it was?" Kamon asks. He's not smiling now. _If he tells 'em to carry on I -_ will it all fall down again? Another memory flickers: building a house of cards over lunch one day, Yutaka falling against the desk and knocking it over _-_ falling down like that, _wouldn't still have it then. Iijima thinking he's bein' so... smart but... I always knew. Kamon? He... always knows too? No... frosty, c'mon... right now s'all right..._

 _Right now I know what to say._ "I... I did research."

"You went to the library, did you?"

"No, I... Uncle'd told me how to get on... online. I mean the... the real Net, not the..." He clutches at words in the back of his mind, but they slip through his fingers. _Okay, okay, not important. Stay with it. Staying frosty._ "So I... looked... looked for stuff..."

"Your uncle told you a lot, didn't he?" 

Shinji shrugs. _No need to waste words, yeah?_

"A shame, really. Your parents seem so concerned to toe the line, keep their heads down... I suppose blood will out, in the end. I've always advocated stamping down hard on any signs of... unorthodoxy. But the liberals further up the chain of command preferred to leave your esteemed relative alone, see what he did... for a while, anyway. Rather unfortunate, considering where it's got you..." His eyes flick over Shinji, and he smiles. "So. Let's talk some more about these cosy little chats the two of you had."

_Okay._

_Okay, I think I... I think I got away with it..._ he tries to fight down that hope, doesn't want Kamon to see hope, _I shouldn't be - I shouldn't be smiling, right guys? Let's put on the... the pro-government faces..._

"So. When did you first find out of his... predilection for anti-government activity?"

"I was... I was round at his place... 'bout... three years ago." A sunny day, and that girl with the glasses and nice legs... _can't even remember her name now... huh, not that like that matters..._ "And I... I saw..." _Uncle frowning, 'you didn't see this... we're talking big-time illegal.'_ "I saw..." Saying it's like trying make himself throw up, his throat tightens, _I can't, letting 'em win, telling this bastard, easy option, I **can't -**_

"You saw something worth mentioning?" Kamon says. "Or didn't see anything and are trying to waste my time?"

 _Focus, c'mon; they can't get him._ Uncle smiling. _Pick your fights carefully. Hold on to what's important._ And this _isn't_ important, it just feels like a kick in the teeth letting it go -

"He was working... working on a laptop. Told me it was... secret, and I said I... I wanted in."

"A regrettable decision," says Kamon, smiling. "And so? What mysteries of revolutionary culture did he induct you into? I'm guessing quite a lot; your latest project wasn't exactly unsophisticated."

_Now... now we're getting onto the hard stuff._

"There were... there are... sites..." _There are sites and I've posted on 'em, trying to help, trying to do the right thing and now just... just listen to me. 'Let me tell you all about it cos I **love** being a snitch.' _ He's still clenching his fists, and now he digs his nails into his palms even harder, trying to block out the miserable hiss of his thoughts. _Forfeit the game..._ but damn it, _I gotta - gotta pick what's important. Much harder to trace people back through... through the Net... choose the battles, everything else is superficial..._ He can hear his own voice stammering out the details. It hardly sounds like him, although the memories of how he _is_ meant to sound are so faint now _maybe I was always like this... underneath. Like... y'know, Uncle saying... was it Uncle? Someone saying 'civilisation only... only two meals away from...' that word, means like... goin' crazy and killing each other. Or screwing your friends over._ Only it's not like he hasn't been given food... _else people'd... let themselves die, right? Starve to death and... then it's like 'fuck you' cos you take it to the grave. Well... maybe not. Maybe I'd wimp out on that too..._

Over his real voice, still so faint, he hears himself saying _Geez, self-pitying much? Come on, get a grip._ Can't remember who he said it to. _Gotta... stay frosty now, down to the last few seconds... gotta... make the shot..._

"Fascinating," Kamon says, looking down at the notes he's been making. "Social inadequates plotting to topple the government... idealism is so amusing." He looks up, meets Shinji's eyes. "And so easy to let go of, when the chips are down. Wouldn't you agree?"

 _Yeah, well, you know what, you're a... a loser and I don't have to... agree with anything you say. So... so there._ That's probably the lamest comeback he's ever thought up, but... _still **making** comebacks. That's good, right? And he's wrong anyway, I'm not letting go... gotta hold onto what's important. Gotta... do right by her, do right by Uncle... _

He feels the smile flicker on his face too late. 

For a moment they just stare at each other. 

Then Kamon pushes back his chair, gets to his feet, and walks towards Shinji. Still the silence except for the faint hum of the lights above them. 

_Like the ball's up in the air and we're all watching -_

His heart's thumping so hard it hurts. 

"Do you know what?" Kamon says, and at the same time he grabs Shinji's hair, wrenching his head back. _Great, gotta stare up at his ugly face -_ but that's just a throwaway line because _the bastard knows. He knows and I missed the shot and -_

_Actually you know what, guys, I'm scared, so damn scared -_

"I think there's something else you're not telling me."

_Missed the shot. Ball bouncing off the hoop and... off down the court, y'know? Well... no, I don't, do I? Never... never missed before..._

"Like what?" he makes himself say.

"Oh, I don't know. Just... something you wanted to hold back, something you assumed you'd got away with. More illegal activity that your esteemed relative was involved in?" Kamon is smiling, his palm sweaty against Shinji's skull, his stink of sweat and coffee and cigarettes thick in the air. "Or perhaps something that... someone _else_ was involved in, hmm? Someone who's still alive... one of your playground pals? Subversion spreads, as you know. Or... did Uncle darling introduce you to a friend?"

_Don't react don't react just don't -_

"What... what d'you wan' me to do?" He's shaking again, he can feel it. _Way to... to not make it obvious..._ "Make shit up?"

"Why, no. Just give me the last few pieces of information you've been holding back on, and then we can both get on with our lives. Well. One of us can, anyway. Because, you see..." and Shinji feels his head yanked back even further, his neck aching, the blood rushing away from behind his eyes, "I think I've got to know you pretty well, not to mention I've read your file, and I feel you're just the type to be... playing an angle, is that how they say it? Always needing to get away with _something._ I doubt you'd be so co-operative if you didn't have some petty little detail tucked away in your mind that you planned to hold onto. Now, I wouldn't say I'm demanding, but... I want _all_ the information you happen to possess, not just what you decide to give me. Or to put it another way, I want you to decide to co-operate fully. So..." And he leans closer, his breath warm and stale, "what's it going to be?"

_Missed..._

_End of the line, Mimura my man. Game... game over._

"It's not exactly a difficult decision," Kamon is murmuring. "You're not stupid. You know perfectly well that the powers that be are giving me as much time as I need to deal with you. You know this isn't going to stop until I'm satisfied that you're of no further use to us, and you know that at the moment, I'm _not_ satisfied. You may think you can hold out. Perhaps you can, for a few more hours. But you've already had to compromise, haven't you? Already had to spill the family secrets. I doubt you thought you'd do that when you arrived here... hm?"

 _Didn't. Not a compromise... it didn't matter... none'f it mattered..._ But it's not good enough any more because _he knows, one step ahead, bastard... he knows what matters too..._

"Idealism again, you see?" Kamon says, shaking his head. "Teenagers always think that when it comes down to it, they'll be up to the challenge, hold true to their dreams, yadda yadda..." And now he smiles, and Shinji remembers how many Programs there've been even just in his lifetime, and suddenly feels even sicker. _Anything's better'n this, got to be..._ he dimly remembers that he's supposed to be _glad_ they didn't get picked, but he can't remember why. _Would've been different. Could've fought back, anyway..._

"Trust me," Kamon says. "They never do. And you're just the latest in a long line. You've already had to forfeit once. How long will it be before you do that again?"

 _Gotta... gotta be a way, just..._ but there isn't, his mind is dashing frantically through all the possible moves and _nothing,_ whatever he says, whatever he does, _gonna start again, gonna all start again and **don't think about it,**_ he tries to say, _just don't, mustn't crack, can't, said I wouldn't and -_ his hands are uncurled now, scrabbling uselessly, he didn't even realise they were doing it. Kamon has seen, he's smiling again, and then he lets go of Shinji, says, "Well... let's find out," and walks back to his chair, signalling the others in the room as he does so.

 _Stop feeling, stop feeling right now -_ but he can't, indeed suddenly he's noticing everything, a drip of sweat running down his nose, the ache of his dry throat and the nagging hunger under his ribs and _no, stop it, switch off_ now it starts and for one last second he's on the boundary and then - 

Then he is screaming again. He can't hear what he's actually saying - the words in his head aren't that coherent and by the time they get to his mouth they're broken up, but he can see Kamon shaking his head, just make out the words, "Not until you co-operate..."

And before he can even try and talk himself out of it, before it's even occurred to him that he's going to do it, he's yelling "It was the detonator! It wasn't him who -" Can't get the words out fast enough because every second hurts, "wasn't him who gave it to me, okay, that's it, that's _everything, stop it, please please make it stop -"_

"Is that really everything?"

" _Yes!_ Yes - everything -"

"You're positive?"

And all he can do is scream it and _never gonna stop never never gonna stop I can't I can't take it any more I can't I can't -_

And then it does stop. But this time there's no joy, _could start again, any time, they... they..._ tears are oozing down his face, and he remembers vaguely that that's bad, _don't cry in public..._ but he can't make them stop. _Can't make anything stop, not... not really..._

Swallows. His throat hurts. Head hurts too, the ache slamming against his eyes. 

"So? Who was it who gave you Uncle's gift, then?"

His voice is so quiet now as he lets the words go. He's so _tired._ Every single syllable's an effort as he tries to remember how to get them from brain to mouth; his tongue's too heavy to lift. "It... it was my aunt."

Kamon raises his eyebrows. "Indeed? I was under the impression that your uncle was a... confirmed bachelor. Care to elaborate?"

And he's stumbling out the story, and... and it's so pathetic... so short _._ Almost nothing, _not important,_ except he knows it is. Or it was, once; now s'like an exam you took years ago, a girl you're over... you remember it used to be such a big deal _and now nothing matters 'cept it stops, stays stopped, got to, got to..._ blackness keeps rolling over his eyes and his hands are shaking so badly that they hurt. _Geez, I... not me. Not really me..._

Eventually Kamon stops asking him stuff and nods to the guards, who step forward. But before they can haul Shinji up, Kamon puts out a hand and says "Let's see you stand on your own two feet for a moment, shall we? After all, you're co-operating now... deserve special treatment..." And he actually winks. 

Shinji swallows, fumbles through his thoughts to try and work out how to get himself to move. _You can't,_ a voice in the back of his mind is screaming, _you know you can't_ but he hasn't looked at his feet for ages, not since it - 

As the left foot touches the floor it's almost a surprise to feel the pain lashing through it and up his leg. He hears himself howl, the sound tearing at his aching throat, and drops; the floor's sticky under his palms. _What'f they make me walk alla way back... can't..._

But Kamon, high above him now, is shaking his head, motioning the guards forward again. "Dissidence and sporting prowess have never gone together, I'm afraid," he says. "But then, I warned you from the beginning, didn't I?"

In the end, the guards jerk him to his feet, drag him back out into the office. Kamon, following, is smiling, a big wide smile as if this is his ultimate high. _Prob'ly..._ but the rest of the thought trails away, and Shinji can't get to it. 

"Nice to make your acquaintance," Kamon says. "If I meet this young lady I'll be sure to mention who put us in touch." And he laughs. Shinji stares at him, wondering why he said that, _not just politeness, right?_ and eventually realises he's supposed to care about that remark. He's pretty sure he would have cared before. 

_Hey... this isn't me any more. That's it!_ That's why it all went... why it all got so... yeah. _Not me. No one... no one comes back, remember?_ He understands now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two years later**

The air is cool and crisp, and the street running through between the Shiroiwa shops is speckled with half-frozen dead leaves. Yutaka Seto picks his way carefully over them - knowing his luck, he'll slip, fall and break his leg, probably managing to crash into someone and spill their shopping everywhere in a humorous fashion as he does so. _Man, ice sucks._

He's after a birthday present for his mother. Not that he has any clue what to get her, so the half of his mind which isn't concentrating on the perils of ice is focused on that. _Jewellery? Probably can't afford it. And I got her bath stuff last year, right? Or maybe that was the year before... woah!_ He stops as his feet threaten to skid from under him, grabs wildly at a lamppost. _If it was the year before will it look bad if I get her some again? Huh, probably._ He sighs, watching his breath cloud out around him. He's normally quite good at buying presents for people, but when it's your mum and you've been doing it for eighteen years - no, not eighteen of course, more like twelve or thirteen, but _still -_ you start running out of ideas. With friends and other family members it's different - aunts and uncles and grandparents don't notice repetition so much and friends... well, they come and go, don't they?

He sighs, drags his mind back onto presents. Perhaps he could get her an ornament. He's bought her ornaments before, and there's not much room left in the flat to put them out, but he's sure it's been at least two years since he last got her one. Yeah, it _is_ two years, because the last time he got an ornament it was a china kitten which Mim described as the most nauseating piece of sculpture he'd ever laid eyes on, and that _had_ to have been ninth grade because _Mimura... well, yeah_ \- so if he heads up to that shop further out which has a bunch of paperweights and bits of coloured glass and stuff - 

He lets go of the lamppost and carries on down the road, glancing at his watch as he does so. _Aw, geez, when did it get to be twelve-thirty?_ He's got way too much homework this weekend, none of which he's even begun to start completing. _Let's get a move on -_

A split second later, he remembers the ice. A split second after that, he's skidded on a lump of frozen leaves and crashed to the ground, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on a nearby bench. _Ow. Damn._ He picks himself up, wincing and wishing that the guy on the bench hadn't noticed his oh-so-smooth skating. _Yeah, hi, I'm Yutaka Seto, I do this a lot._

_Uh, you can stop looking at me now, this really isn't that unusual -_ okay, the guy is seriously staring at him. _Have you never seen someone trip over their own feet before?_

Then - 

Then he's stopped noticing the bruises and the damp seeping through his coat, because - _am I going nuts? Oh crap, maybe I **am** going nuts. But then why is he staring at me if it's not him - well, maybe **he's** nuts - _

"Uh." Yutaka takes a few careful steps forward, grabs the arm of the bench again. The other guy is still watching him, staring as if he's not sure what to say, and _no, it's still him,_ the face isn't changing, no _oops actually you don't look anything like him_. Yutaka swallows. "I... uh..." _Just spit it out, if it's not him then you'll just look a little weird and that's no big deal, specially after the ice dance._ "Mim... is it you?"

"Yutaka. Hey." The voice is quieter, but as Mimura speaks he smiles, just a little, and Yutaka can see it is him, even though... 

"I... we all thought... we thought you were dead!" Yutaka hears his voice crack - sounds like he's accusing Mim of lying or something. But he can't help feeling he _has_ been tricked. _No one ever comes back..._ "I, I went round your house, you know, we were gonna go to the arcade, remember? And your parents, they told me... they said you got taken off by soldiers. They looked... really rough."

"Yeah. Well, I..." A pause, then - "Sorry, I... it's been a while, you know? Talking to people. I... finished doing time. And they let me out. Today, actually. I was just..." He glances round at the shops, at the scatters of people. "Just... checking out the old place." 

"I... sure, that's cool." Yutaka wants to sit down, _hang out like always,_ but at the same time he's wary of doing so. _He's so... quiet. Yeah._ And it's not as if they agreed to meet. And it's not like Yutaka knows what he'd say even if Mim hadn't... changed so much. _So, how was it being arrested? Is it as bad as everyone says, huh?_ "Uh... you been back home yet?"

After a moment, Mimura shakes his head. "Nah, I just... I wanted to..." He shrugs, grins again. "See the sky and stuff, I guess. Hah. Not... not too sappy." 

"Didn't you see it in -" _shut up shut up shut up -_ "Uh - I mean -" Suddenly he realises part of him wants to get as far away from Mimura as possible because _it's not him, he's too different, what am I s'posed to say? I always put my foot in it even at the best of times -_ and at the same time he's furious with himself for being such a wuss, and so he blurts out, "Hey... you want to come back to mine or something? There's - there's too much... uh, there's too much ice round here. You know?"

Mimura laughs, and for a moment he seems just like he used to be, _just a little tired;_ but then he shakes his head. "No, better not."

"It's no trouble to us. My mum was worried about you..." Talking too much again. "You know she was pleased I actually had some friends for once -"

"It's not that."

"Then - then what is it?" Yutaka suddenly realises that maybe Mimura just doesn't want to hang out with him - that stings a little, but Mimura's already answering, "I don't want to cause trouble for you. I'm not exactly appropriate company... know what I mean? If they wanted to, they could book you for associating with dissidents." The words flow out, quick and sharp like the old Mimura used to speak, but then the next moment he's slumped a little, as if saying so much took it out of him. That's unnerving all on its own, and what he's saying is even worse. 

"Mim... I..." Yutaka doesn't know what he's trying to say. "You... I mean, was... I mean..." _Get a grip, damn it!_ "Okay, so... come get a coffee or something? They can't book you for that, right?"

"I... guess not." Another smile, this one more sour. "You'd have to pay, though. All they gave me were the clothes." One hand brushes his ear, and Yutaka sees that the earring is gone. He doesn't recognise the clothes, either; a frayed, off-white shirt, and faded jeans, slightly too long. _They didn't think he'd be coming back out. Or they just didn't care..._

"That's cool," he says quickly. "C'mon, there's a place across the road, remember? Shouldn't be too busy right now..."

Mimura gets slowly to his feet. As they start to walk across to the cafe, Yutaka notices the other guy is limping. That's wrong, too. In his memories Mimura is always making movement look effortless, whether he's running down the court or sauntering through the classroom or just leaning against a wall and listening to Shuuya holding forth about something or other. Seeing him moving so slowly now - _I'm actually looking less awkward'n him -_

Yutaka shivers, trying to pretend it's because of the weather. _This is dumb. What did I expect?_ Well, _nothing -_ he'd thought he was never gonna see Mim again, right? _Still had the memories, though._ Now those memories feel wrong, stupid, as if he's relying on them to make everything okay.

The cafe is quiet except for the muzak humming in the background. They sit at the back, hidden from view by a withering potted fern. Yutaka's not sure why they're keeping a low profile. Is even this _associating with dissidents_? Or is it just that Mimura doesn't wanna see anyone right now? _Could be. After all, he wasn't expecting to run into me even._ The guy's got his hands cupped round his glass of Coke, stares down at his reflection in it as if - _as if we're strangers and he doesn't know what to talk about._ Well, Yutaka's not sure _he_ knows what to talk about either. He glances down at his lemonade, at the crumbs scattered across the table, then, trying not to make it obvious, back at Mimura. The guy's hair is a little longer, the spikes have grown out; and - Yutaka squints, not sure what else, before it hits him - _someone busted his nose._ He swallows.

"So... how're things with you?" Mimura says at last. Yutaka quickly yanks his gaze away, up to a spot a few centimetres above the other guy's head. _Great, way to make it obvious you're staring at him._ "Huh? Oh, they're... they're, uh, good. Doing all that university planning stuff at the moment."

"You got good grades in the end?"

"Uh... good enough." 

"Hey, that's great." 

"I... yeah." Yutaka tries to smile. 

"Did..." Mimura frowns. "Did the others pass their exams okay too?"

"Sugi did. Yoshi didn't want to, he's gonna get a job. Uh... Shuuya..." Yutaka swallows, not sure how Mimura's going to take this next bit. "Shuuya kind of... lost it a bit and ended up being... kicked out of school."

Mimura blinks. "You're kidding."

"Nuh-uh. He was... pretty pissed off about - well, about what happened to you, and... he just kept getting angry with everyone. Shouting matches and... getting into fights and stuff... You know what Shuuya's like."

"Well... yeah, but... he always did that kind of stuff."

"There were more fights." Yutaka tries to make his voice light, as if this is almost funny; tries not to remember how much he'd wanted to join Shuuya in punching out the world except that he had a mother who'd be so disappointed if he didn't graduate... _he stood up for you, for what he believed in, and I just kept my head down._ "In the end he lost it once too often, so... they expelled him."

"He still around here?" 

"Yeah. He helps out at the children's home a lot."

"Trust Shuuya," Mimura says, shaking his head. "Always... always freaking out over nothing, right?"

And that _is_ something the old Mimura would have said, but it still stings. "Geez, Mim, having them take your friend away isn't exactly _nothing._ "

There should have been a smart comeback to that, but there isn't; instead Mimura just shrugs, and, gazing down at his glass again, says, "Yeah, well..."

Silence for a moment. 

"No need to rock the boat," Mimura continues at last. "I mean... it's not like it helped me, is it?"

 _Please smile. Please smile and make like that was a joke -_ Yutaka realises he's gripping his lemonade so hard his knuckles are white, and quickly lets go. Smashing a glass that doesn't belong to him and slicing up his palms won't help the situation, even if it might defuse the awkwardness right now... because what's he supposed to say to that? _No, I guess not_? _I would've helped if I'd known what the hell I could actually **do**_ , but knowing what to do has always been Mim's department anyway. _And he never needed help. Never asked for it, anyway. Always acted like everything was easy..._ Yutaka has never told anyone, and is _certainly_ not gonna tell this someone, that at certain points during the last two years, when he's been stressed or worried or confused, he's thought _hey Mim, what would you do? What'd you tell me?_ and sometimes he's even got what felt like a reply. 

_Not gonna be doing that again any time soon. Not now. Stand on my own feet..._ if only that didn't feel like it was gonna be so hard. _You always managed it, before, right, Mim?_ He used to be kind of jealous that Mimura had done all his growing up, used to wish he could be on the other guy's level. Huh. _Be careful what you wish for, I guess._

"How come you're... you're here?" he says at last, figuring that question's not totally ignoring the fact that their lives have probably been quite different these last two years, but isn't completely insensitive and nosy either. "I mean... most people..." _Don't come back._

"Oh... I didn't actually manage to _do_ anything," Mimura says. "I mean... I got busted for snooping around, not damaging stuff. So after... uh..." There's another long pause. Yutaka sees him swallow, and he stares down at his glass again. "I mean, I was in a juvenile detention centre for - for most of the two years and I think they figured I'd learnt my lesson."

"I... okay. Right."

"So it's... it's cool, really. Still got my... good looks and... you know, time, right?" Mimura shakes his head. "Man... I didn't realise I'd got so out of practice at making conversation. Sorry."

"Didn't you -"

"Nah. Discipline was pretty tight there; no talking, really. So I... well, yeah. This is probably good, it's getting me back in the zone."

"No talking at all? You're kidding."

"Nope. Well, it's not like they'd want dissidents like me dragging down the... general shoplifters and muggers even further, is it?" He shrugs. "Or vice versa, come to think about it. Chill out, it wasn't a big deal. Nice of 'em to let me keep my mouth shut for a bit..." 

He stops, glances away slightly, and there's a long, horrible silence.

"Sorry," he says at last.

__

"You're sorry?" Yutaka manages to say. "What - what the hell for?"

"I... I wasn't expecting to see you," Mimura says, a rueful smile on his face. "If I had I'd've... been prepared. I mean, for... I mean, I wouldn't be making cracks like that. I don't want a pity party, you know?"

"So they... um, so they did..." Yutaka stares down at the table, pretty sure this is going over the line _and_ that he won't like the answer. "So they did... ask you stuff."

"Yeah. Yeah, they did."

"Did you..." _What? Did you give it all up from the beginning or did they have to -_ Yutaka grits his teeth. No point in asking all these questions now, is there? _Knowing won't change anything._ But part of him feels like if he _did_ know, he'd be able to - to understand? To say the right thing? _Yeah, sure. I'm hardly the master at that normally, am I?_

"I gave 'em answers," Mimura says, lightly, and Yutaka sees his hand, resting on the table, curl into a fist. "I... in the end, I..." He stops, and Yutaka sees how unconcerned, how casual his expression is, and then realises how hard he must be fighting to keep it that way. "I dunno how long it took, but... not all the two years, that's for sure. I just... you know. Well. No, I guess you - I guess you don't, but - _fuck -"_ He shakes his head, smiles. "I wasn't gonna do this, midget, it's a - bit of a downer, isn't it? And... not like I've got anything to say. I mean, you know, _everyone cracks in the end,_ blah blah blah... kinda lame." He stops for a moment, and Yutaka wonders if he's meant to reply, and if so what the hell with, but before he can work that out Mim has just shrugged and said, "Like I said, no pity party."

A bunch of answers mingle in Yutaka's head, but all of them sound lame or fake or like he wants Mimura to shut up and pretend everything's fine again, which he _doesn't_ (well, mostly doesn't). 

"What... what did you know?" he says at last. "I mean, you were - I mean, you _are -_ you're just a regular kid, right?"

"I knew enough. I knew enough and I think I sold someone else out too." And now his face may be looking like this doesn't matter but the expression's set, suddenly, he may as well be looking blank for all the information it's giving. "That's it."

"I... shit, I'm... really sorry." Which may be lame, but at least is honest.

Mimura shrugs. "Don't sweat it." He swigs down the rest of the Coke. "I... I should get going, anyway."

"Oh. Oh, sure. Are you... are you gonna go home? See your parents?"

"Ah... maybe." Mimura doesn't glance round, but he looks as if he wants to. "Look... I'd... I'd appreciate it if you didn't... uh... if you kept it to yourself you'd spotted me."

"Huh? What are you -"

Mimura puts a finger to his lips. "Careless talk costs lives, little buddy. I... don't want you to know enough, either, okay?"

"But -"

He leans closer, and suddenly he's not smiling any more, suddenly he looks like he's gonna break something, or, or cry, or something else horrible - "Seriously, Yutaka. I've fucked up enough already without dropping you in it too, so _please_ don't make me do it cos I think that'd just about finish me. You... you and the others kept me sane so just... go get on with your life, okay? You're lucky to have it, you were nearly - I mean - let's just drop it."

"I..." There's too many questions, too many things he wants to say but can't find the words for, and he finds himself just nodding, _like a sap, he'll think I couldn't wait to ditch him_ as Mimura pushes his chair back, gets to his feet, claps him on the shoulder as he walks past. "Good to see you, okay? Have a blast at college." And then he's moved away - Yutaka looks round to see him limping out of the cafe door, and from the back it doesn't look like Mimura at all.

***

Shinji keeps going until the cafe is far behind him. Soon he's away from the shops, walking past the park. The grass is smeared with patches of frost; sunlight throws the shadows of the railings and the bare trees above them onto the ground in front of him, over his feet. 

It wasn't cool, just ditching Yutaka like that. Doesn't seem like he's changed at all, apart from being a bit taller, _and he was so desperately trying to make small talk... trying to help._

_Typical. Hasn't learnt to leave well enough alone, whatever else he may've figured out._

Hadn't really occurred to Shinji that Shiroiwa - home and everything - would've changed. Not that he'd sat around dreaming of it because that was a really great way to make yourself feel like slitting your wrists, but, y'know, when memories had popped up in unguarded moments he'd never thought _I guess they're getting older_ or _wonder if Sugi ever did get the balls to ask that Kayoko girl out?_ or _hope Shuuya's learnt to play more'n three songs by now_. More like junior high school, and his friends, were something he'd made up _to cope_ to keep himself amused and so they'd stay exactly the same as they were in his head, down to the lousy renditions of _Smoke on the Water._

Still hadn't _totally_ occurred to him this morning, when he finally stepped out away from the constant light, that he wasn't exactly gonna hop back onto the round of classes and basketball practice and making fun of Shuuya's rock aspirations and spending dull lessons ranking the girls in the room in order of hotness and giving his parents precisely nil information if they asked about his day. _Maybe I did just make it all up after all._

Yutaka kept staring at him in an ohmigosh-he-looks-awful kinda way pretty much throughout their meeting. _Geez, surely it didn't mess me up that badly. Okay, a broken nose and a limp aren't the best accessories unless you're a boxer, but stilI..._

(In the detention centre dining hall on his second morning; he remembers he was glancing around - while trying not to catch anyone's eye - and noticing how easy it was to work out who was in for theft or playing yakuza or killing their classmates and who was in for dissident behaviour. The juvenile delinquents all looked like Numai or Sasagawa and they were constantly dialoguing despite the prohibition on speech; shared amusement, or threats glared across the table. All the anti-government kids were like the living dead and they didn't look at anyone, just sat spooning cold cereal into their mouths. If he was comparing them to Class B, he'd have said they reminded him of Sakaki, or Akamatsu after he'd been jumped on... blocking out the world. Some of them limped, or were trying to keep their hands out of sight as much as possible and when he realised he knew why, it hit him that he must be looking just like them and that creeped him out so much he can't remember if he noticed anything else.)

 _I guess I do look different._ He doesn't think he's ever had anyone look at him like Yutaka did before. Even if he didn't have other reasons for avoiding contact, who wants to take up the victim role with their friends? Why'd you want to spend your life having people glance nervously at you out of the corner of their eye? _Well, some people might welcome the pity. Iijima or someone... **I'm so weak, feel sorry for me, watch my back, blah blah**... but that's not me, so..._

_Shit, I hope it's not me._

_Oh, the bastards knew what they were doing._ Why keep him in jail, taking up space, when they can let him go, have him walk - well, limp - around as an example to others? _Just like they sent me out with a damn sign around my neck saying Do Not Fuck With The Greater East Asian Republic._ And _that_ thought pisses him off so much he doesn't know how to deal with the fury, so he tries not to think it. 

_But geez, they didn't have to take the b-ball skills away. That's not... that's not anti-government. "We play hard and with gusto for the glory of the Great Dictator," right? Or whatever those dumb slogans were._

("Dissidence and sporting prowess have never gone together, I'm afraid")

 _Nah. Can't have people with the wrong ideas poisoning your team spirit._ Not to mention he knows he's lucky he got away with the injuries he did. _Lucky I got away at all._

_Except I'm thinking I didn't get as far away as I'd like._

He glances up at the sky, which is so blue it looks fake; breathes in cool air, smells the wet grass and petrol fumes. _Enjoy it while it lasts,_ because he's positive that sooner or later they'll haul him back in. It won't take much. Rumours of anti-government behaviour in the area, _interrogation of all known dissidents is taking place,_ and then it'll be back to _so, what do you know? And we all know I'll break in the end because everyone does, or did you forget? Even if I don't know anything, I'll find something to say eventually._

 _You're nothing special,_ and he feels his mouth curve into a smile, _you're not gonna be a hero, you can't topple the government on your own, and two plus two **does** equal five._

_And that's that._

_So. Now what?_

_Oh, come on. I'm pretty much out of options, at the moment anyway._ He's flat broke. He has literally nothing but the clothes he stands up in. _So it's either Park Bench Hilton, or..._

He never planned to go back home. All through the two years he never dreamed of sleeping in his own bed or happy family dinners; sometimes he thought of his uncle's bar, sometimes school, sometimes just playing b-ball on a sunny day - but not his home, and not his mum and dad. It's not like they were ever _friends,_ either with him or each other; just three people who happened to live in the same house. Not to mention all the crying and drama when he got taken away. He goes back, it'll be embarrassing again.

But he's broke. _They might as well be some **use,** _ and it actually helps to see it like that, be the unscrupulous jerk who views people as nothing more than meal tickets. Being that guy sounds good; someone like that wouldn't have cared about anything that happened. Wouldn't have cared about dropping someone else in it - would've just shrugged and moved on with his life. _Moving on's good, right? Even if you're doing it at a limp._

Without making a proper decision, he's turned away from the park and is starting to walk up the road back to his house. Less ice round here, anyway. He's never walked this route so slowly.... in fact, all the times he can remember he's been running, or in a large group and ducking back and forth to hear what different people are saying. It's getting _irritating_ taking such a long time to get anywhere; bugging him like a constant noise, siren or something, in the background. 

But the street is quiet. Crunch of his feet on dead leaves; every so often, a front door slams or a car hums past; in one or two houses he hears music playing; but apart from that, nothing except his thoughts saying more and more loudly _this is a really bad idea._ For one thing, it's what the bastards _expect_ him to do, and so it sucks just because it's that... for another, he's pretty sure whatever his parents want from him - prodigal son, penitent sinner, totally the same as he was before - he's not gonna feel like giving it to 'em. 

__

_Besides, I should stand on my own two feet, what's left of 'em; I'm eighteen now, after all._

_Right?_

He stops for a moment, and the world seems to lurch even though nothing actually moves. He grabs at a nearby tree, glad to feel the rough bark under his palm. (He spent much of his childhood trying to climb this tree, thinking when he got to the top he'd be able to see everything. Never made it). 

_Is_ he eighteen? No one's told him the date for months. He knows at one point someone let slip that it was Christmas Day, but he doesn't know what year; he only knows he was in jail for two years at all because they said to him today that ' _Hopefully the last two years have helped you rethink your attitude...' Just great, I don't even know how old I am. Amazing! I should've asked Yutaka how old **he** was and taken it from there, been smooth, real smooth... _He's laughing now, because it _is_ freakin' funny, but he's horribly aware that the laughter is way too close to crying for comfort and who the hell stands there sobbing their eyes out in the street except for crazy people? _Aw, come on, I could've missed two birthdays, 'f I was five years old that'd be cause for a full-scale freak-out. Come on, chill, it's okay..._

He swallows down the snickering, keeps walking. 

He practised riding a bike up and down this road; used to stop and talk to the neighbours. The ones three doors down had a daughter his age; when he was thirteen they made out in her family's garden. For months after that the smell of newly cut grass made him smile. Uncle was the only one who noticed -

But he's trying not to think about Uncle so much these days.

(He doesn't know how long it took him to recover either... _morphine does that to you, know what I'm saying?_ Lying in a ward that smelt so much of disinfectant it stung when you breathed, staring at a square of light above him. In his head he kept going back to the meeting with his aunt, on the bridge - the sky opening up above them with the fire of the sunset: the detonator small and heavy in his hands. _"There must be others... y'know, better qualified'n that." Huh, I was... right there. Go me... a point to Shinji Mimura... "Use it when things get ugly."_ And now things had got ugly and he'd just rolled over and let 'em get so. _Missed shot... Uncle didn' think... didn' think I would. **I** didn' think either though... Didn't wanna, just... happened... shouldn'ta let it happen... _ But every time he got to that point he drifted off again before he could let it start really bothering him... never sure whether it was the drugs or just that _it's all superficial, with me, remember? Unc shoulda known that..._ )

But now he's out and he's _gotta_ find out what happened to her and try and - try and sort it out. Just has to. Okay, so he hasn't got a clue where to start at the moment, but he'll work on that, y'know? Chew it over and see where he ends up... pity his thoughts feel like they slowed down too.

What he'll do if he does find she's in jail, or dead, he doesn't know. Doesn't really wanna think about it. _Definitely... not-superficial thoughts, so... can't deal, right?_

Or maybe it's just that he doesn't like not having a plan.

__

_First things first. Family reunion._

And he's standing outside the house. Doesn't look like much has changed. His dad's car is still parked in the drive; he can just see into the living room, still oh-so-tastefully decorated in cream and yellow, and above that, his own bedroom window - 

The blind's gone.

_Well, why are you surprised? They think you're dead._

He shouldn't have come back, he _really_ shouldn't have come back. _Well... here now. Gonna have to face it, right?_ Quickly, before he can chicken out and run away, he walks up to the front door, rings the bell. The street is still silent; the cold pinches at his fingers. But the sun goes on shining, flickering in all the windows, as if nothing's happened and he never went away. _Hah. Perhaps the real me's still in there._

Footsteps, and the distorted silhouette through the glass, and then the door swings open and his mother is staring at him. She's got her can-I-help-you? face on, but as they gaze at each other, that fades away into are-you-trying-to-sell-me-something and then are-you-a-door-to-door-beggar and then, slowly, horribly, she gets it -

"Shinji?"

"Uh. Yeah." He wants to say something better; either a joke, to make it clear that this means nothing to him, or at least have a stab at playing the dutiful son. But his mother doesn't seem to care how inarticulate he is. She goes white - horribly quickly, so that her makeup suddenly looks like crayon marks on her face - and he sees her clutch at the doorframe, and he wonders if she's going to faint, just fall back out of view like in sitcoms, and what's he gonna do ( _cut and run_ ) if she does? 

"You're not -" She swallows. "They took you away -"

"Yeah, I know." It sounds jerky. He doesn't _wanna_ be a jerk. He's never thought much of her but that doesn't mean he wants to be cruel, right?

"I thought you..." And now she's crying. Silently as always, one hand pressed to her mouth, shaking her head a little. "I thought they had... that you -"

"What's going on?"

Shinji sees his father approaching. His mother is already turning, about to explain, a smile shining through the tears, but Dad is smart, and as soon as he looks at Shinji he obviously gets it. And he looks _horrified_. Shinji is almost grateful for a response that matches his own feelings a bit more as his father stumbles forward, pushing Mum out of the way, and gasps, "What are you doing here - why did you come back -"

Before Shinji can have a stab at answering that tricky question, his mother is hissing, "What are you doing? Why on earth wouldn't he -"

"Be quiet -" His father is pale too. He grabs Shinji by the shoulders, stares into his face. "How dare you? How dare you come here and put your mother and me in - in such a difficult position?"

"It's legit." Shinji hears his voice go all calm, slightly sneering; playing it cool like he always used to, specially in rows with parents. "I didn't... I didn't escape, they let me go -"

"So now we can witness any dissident activities you do or don't get involved in. For Heaven's sake..." His father's hands, sweaty and furious, are shaking on his shoulders. "You don't think you caused enough trouble already? Everyone else keeps their heads down and manages to finish school, but you, you _had_ to try and show off, be a hero..."

 _Is this the bit where I start making a speech about civil liberties? No - he just wants to believe only selfish jerks get taken away. The innocent have nothing to fear. Okay, fair enough, I can be a jerk. Don't think anything else will cut much ice._

"What's your problem?" he says instead, rolling his eyes, _stay frosty,_ that always pisses Dad off. "I'm the one who got busted... know what I'm saying?"

"The entire house was searched. Twice." His father lets go of him, but only so he can move to block the door. "We had police officers questioning us for _six months._ I nearly lost my job, and your mother -"

"It doesn't matter," Mum cuts in. "Please, can't we just -"

"No, we can't. Your _selfishness,_ your complete lack of concern for anyone else involved in this -"

"Hey, hey, _chill,_ okay?" Shinji holds out his hands, backs away a little, _let's pretend I'm still too cool for the room._ "Man, I wasn't gonna ask to shack up with you two again anyway." His mother's mouth falls open, she looks from him to Dad as if she's a little kid again herself. "I just... thought you'd like to know I was alive." And he smirks. _Couldn't possibly mean it, now could I?_

Dad stares at him, and the anger fades to be replaced by disgust. That's good. _I'm very disappointed in you._

"All right," he says at last. "How much do you want?"

 _Well, what do you know, he figures I only see people as meal tickets too. Lucky we're on the same page - and it'll make this whole scene easier, don't you think?_ Shinji folds his arms, glances up at the bare branches of the trees around them as he pretends to consider. "How much do you wanna pay to see the back of me?" he says at last, not sure how much it's polite to ask for when you're being disowned.

"Shinji?" his mother says. "Please... your father doesn't mean it, he just..."

"Hey, it's cool." No, that sounds like he's putting a brave face on it but is devastated inside. _C'mon, I can break it off mean._ Lucky he had that chat with Yutaka; words are coming back to him now, enough for him to avoid sounding vulnerable. _Say something jerky._ "Come on, you didn't seriously think I wanted to... to live with you two, did you?" He snorts. "Please. Just wanted a bit of the old moolah. Figured you'd be... sentimental enough to fork out." _That was a bit over the top._ But this whole thing is over the top. He'd never figured his parents as the soap opera types... not before he'd got busted, anyway - 

Dad's got his wallet now, is counting out notes, so angrily he almost drops a couple. "There," he says at last, shoving the bunch into Shinji's hand. "Now get out. I don't want to see you anywhere near here, you understand, and if I do I'm calling the police _myself!"_

"Much obliged, m'man." He winks. "Well... see you around. Or not. Don't do anything I wouldn't do -"

His mother is shaking her head, "No, please, _please..._ this is completely unnecessary -" but Dad is putting an arm round her, marching her back into the house. Shinji wants to wait until they've gone - seeing him limp away will screw up their perceptions of him as a heartless deadbeat bastard - but his father glares at him, jerks his head towards the gate, so, shrugging, Shinji turns to go, _fuck, why am I so damn slow -_ and hears his parents become silent as they watch him. 

Eventually he hears the front door slam.

Come to think about it, his parents are probably screwed either way. Someone'd be down to ask them where their son is whatever happened. _So there wasn't anything I could do about this one._

One foot in front of the other. 

_Wasn't anything I could do about a lot, really._

Anyway, he's got cash now. Enough to get a bed for the night. Enough to get the hell out of Shiroiwa before he runs into Yoshi or Sugi... or Shuuya. Shuuya'd be the worst. _Smash the system! Rock on!_ Shinji shakes his head. _You just don't get it, Shu. Not now._ So get out of Shiroiwa at least. _Pick a place, any place._ And then... what? Find some sort of job without having to explain the reason for the two-year gap between now and the last time he earned stuff (Uncle paying him cash in hand for a spot of bar work). Get enough money to avoid having to sleep on the streets. _Keep a low profile. Toe the line. Stay frosty..._ this isn't exactly the hardest thing he's ever done, is it? And yet he's irritated to find there's this whining voice in the back of his mind, _but I wanted friends, I wanted to make it to college. I wanted to try out for the high school b-ball team. I wanted to see if I could cop a feel off Souma without getting a knife in the back. Two more years living rent-free would've been sweet too. And I wanted to be able to run if I feel like it. Not limping everywhere and people not knowing how to look -_

_I wanted to win. Winning's the best._

_And I didn't wanna know how much pain I can take. Really didn't._

He's nearly out of the street where he used to live but the voice won't shut up. Damn it, he'd _said_ he didn't want a pity party and he _doesn't,_ most of his mind is happy to look to the future except for this whiny bit in the back of his head that figures if he bitches about life enough someone'll come along and change it... 

("That's _everything, stop it, please please make it stop -"_ )

One foot in front of the other. _Stayin' frosty. Still. You want change, gotta make it happen yourself, right?_ He's always believed that. 

And then - footsteps. Not his - these are strong, quick steps, and he looks up to see a guy striding down the street towards him. _This is it,_ his thoughts start panicking, _gonna haul me back, couldn't even make it a day,_ but then the next moment he recognises the stranger. _Geez, not too paranoid._ They were in Class B together, back in ninth grade. What was his name? _Kuwata, or..._

"Hey. Got a light?" 

Kawada. That was it. 

Shinji shakes his head. "Sorry, man." Kawada never really talked to anyone, so he doubts the guy will recognise him.

"Whatever." Kawada studies Shinji a moment. Then - he doesn't look surprised as he says, "Hey. Don't I know you?"

"I..." What the hell's he supposed to say now? _Yeah, but I was able to walk properly the last time we met_? _No, and you don't want to_? _Maybe, but I've got a crap memory for people_? And he's still out of practice at talking, seems years since he could do it right and run rings around people with words, so before he can answer, Kawada's got in with, "Yeah, I remember. Uh... Mimura. Right? You were on the basketball team."

 _Why the hell are you talking to me?_ Kawada never talked to anyone if he could help it back in Class B; spent all his time staring out of the window, cutting class when he felt like it, or taking smoke breaks. Why's he being so pally now? Shinji shrugs. "Yeah. Look, I... I got to..." _Go buy some crutches._ "Got to..." 

"It's cool." Kawada is still staring at him. Shinji notices, as if for the first time, the shiny white scar around his left eye. The guy was a delinquent, right? Well... that was what everyone said. Missed a year because he got mixed up with a bad crowd. _Still missed less'n me,_ he thinks, and is grinning slightly when Kawada says, "We should meet up. Talk over old times... know what I'm saying?" And then before Shinji can move because this is _weird,_ Kawada's leaned forward a little, whispered, "You know that bar opposite the station? Used to be called the Blue Lotus 'fore the sign fell off? Just nod or shake."

He nods.

"See you there. Don't get followed."

__

Don't get followed.

Someone else knows. Someone else _gets it._ Shinji realises he's standing there, mouth open like he's trying to catch flies, and quickly wrenches his face back into a semblance of the probably-fucking-moody expression it had before. "Old times... sounds good," he manages to say. Kawada grins, claps him on the shoulder. "Sure. See you around."

And then he's gone on down the street.

The bar which is no longer called the Blue Lotus is downtown... not far from Uncle's bar, but way tackier, if Shinji remembers right. _Don't get followed._ He can't see anyone else around, but he walks even more slowly than he was before, and moves in and out of so many shops and bars it feels like he's decided to take a tour of Shiroiwa after all. _Don't get followed. Could_ it be a trap? People watching him to see what he'd do... but there _isn't_ anyone, he's sure. Street's empty now, people heading home... and there's no harm in going to a bar, is there?

By the time he gets there the sun is fading, and the air's got even more of a bite to it than it did before. _Lucky I did get some cash..._ sleeping rough wouldn't be fun tonight. The place is faded on the outside; the sign never was replaced, and the windows need a wash. Shinji's never been in there - with his uncle owning a bar, hanging out in them was never that glamorous; more like something that reminded him of home and family. _Haven't had a drink for two years, either._

Inside it's dark, the heating cranked up too high. Pretty empty; barkeep looks sour, but when he catches Shinji's eye he jerks his head, indicating another room back behind the main one. Maybe it's just because Shinji's got too used to obeying orders, or maybe he's curious, but whatever, he goes without questions, and isn't particularly surprised to see Kawada sitting at the dusty table.

"You got busted, didn't you." Kawada's not smiling now; he's watching him, smoking. "Nanahara was mouthing off about it for months. What'd you do?"

( - "so refusing to acknowledge your crimes will be of little help.")

 _Could_ this be a trick?

Does it matter if it is? He admitted it all before, and he's probably in deep enough as it is. _Face it, just existing they could pin something on me._ He shrugs. "What's it to you?"

"I'm a nosy bastard when it comes down to it." Kawada almost grins this time. "Or, if you want the polite version; I'm curious. Everyone was going on about it but no one knew exactly what it was you did, so maybe I want to. After all, this is a school reunion, right?"

"Not sure why. I..." This is _no time_ to forget the end of the sentence. "We didn't exactly talk much back in ninth grade. Did you talk to _anyone_?"

"No, not really."

"And I'm guessing you only heard about me because Shu never really learnt that whole indoor-voice thing, not because you've been hanging out with him."

"I'll admit it doesn't even occur to Nanahara that he _could_ keep his mouth shut, let alone that he oughta."

Shinji smiles at that; watches as Kawada does grin, the scar above his eye like a raised brow. 

"You ended up in the same high school as him, then?" he asks. 

"Yeah. Didn't think I would, though."

("I would've run into you earlier this year, then." "Your school was on the Program shortlist.") 

Shinji realises his hands are shaking; is suddenly furious with his whole body, _okay so you had a rough two years but there's no reason to freak out at every little thing!_ He folds his arms, trying to do it casually, and says, "Oh yeah? Poor grades? Or did you... did you think that... Shuuya would be the one not making it to high school?" The stuttering kind of robs the moment of any subtlety. Kawada has stopped smiling. 

"Perhaps," he says. "Not that that's Nanahara's fault... ninth grade can be real tough, specially here and now. Know what I'm saying?"

"I reckon so." So - so Kawada knew about the Program as well? But how? _No one ever comes back..._ are the scars remnants of that, or is he just a delinquent bluffing? Or did he know about Class B's lucky escape because the government told him, because they want him to report back on what Shinji's planning to do? _Once I would've been able to work it out._ Or perhaps not. Maybe it's just once he would've been more confident he was right, whatever he thought.

"So." Kawada takes another drag. "When'd they let you out?"

"Today." That's okay, right?

"How long d'you reckon it'll be before they haul you back in?"

"I..." _You didn't have to spell it out like that, know what I'm saying?_ Geez, when did he get so freakin' over-sensitive? "How should I know? Maybe I'm gonna... gonna toe the line now."

"You know that's not gonna work," Kawada says, almost gently. "They'll probably nab you again within a year... and if you survive that, I'm thinking you'll be shipped off to the colonies. They've let you out for a sweep; they're hoping you'll lead them to some more idealistic morons."

 _That'd be you, then?_ Nah... Kawada's certainly not idealistic, and Shinji's pretty sure he isn't a moron either. _But then, neither am I. Well..._

"Don't... don't flatter me," he says. "I wasn't idealistic... I guess I could allow _moron,_ though. If I'm feeling charitable. It - it was some misapplied computer skills, if you really wanna know... a little hack and slash. Took them a month to track me down... but I guess a smart guy would've stuck to surfing for porn."

A half-smile as Kawada says, "How come you didn't?"

"Boredom. Attitude." He doesn't feel like soul-searching, especially not in front of this guy. "I don't know. Anyway, why're you asking all this stuff? I could be leading them to you, couldn't I? You don't know - you don't know that I didn't -" _Didn't crack. Except I did, of course._ And suddenly it's all rushing back; Kamon laughing, and his aunt tapping her earring with one long finger, nail polish glinting in the sunset, still a looker even with the tears on her cheeks, still smiling; and then he remembers the guard busting his nose, the crunch and the blood and how it had hurt to blink, _I didn't want to, not you, I didn't want them to find out, I -_

Makes himself breathe in. The air smells of cigarettes and peanuts; Kawada's still watching him as if he knows what's going on in his head. Maybe he does. He certainly knows more'n he's telling, that's for sure.

"What, I don't know that you're not gonna hurry off and report back to your masters as soon as you're out of here?" Kawada shrugs. "You're right, I don't. But it's not like it'd make much difference. I'm already... known to 'em, let's say... soon as they hear about this meeting, they'll be down on us _both_ like a ton of bricks, no matter who's on their side."

"So... why the hell did you talk to me at all? I knew they were gonna be keeping an eye on me, but you... you've been here what, three years with no trouble. Why screw it up now?"

Kawada is smiling again, but this time it's a bitter smile, thin like the scars. "Maybe I'm gettin' bored. Maybe I had a plan and it didn't work out... maybe I wanna get revenge some other way. And from what people've said... I thought you might be up for that too."

"Yeah. 'Cept I'm a fucking cripple and I can't string a sentence together -" The words have leapt out of him before he could stop them, and he meant them to sound light-hearted, a joke, but instead they just make him look bitter too. _Huh... maybe I am. Maybe that's good - if you're bitter, that means you can keep a grudge going for months... and I sure could use the energy._ "I'm kind of a liability, don't you think?"

"Yeah, but from what I heard you seemed to be able to think straight, and Nanahara was certainly impressed by you. Not that that's the best reference ever. But it doesn't matter in the long run." Kawada shrugs. "You _do_ know we're not gonna be toppling the Republic any time soon, don't you?"

__

_I do now._

"But I dunno about you, but I'm wanting my shot. All that self-help crap says closure's a good thing, and I've got tired of waiting."

"Go out in a blaze of glory or something?"

"Or something. What the hell. Maybe I just wanted someone else who gets it. I'm going soft, I reckon. I've not got anyone else who'd be hurt by this. You? Your parents are still around, right?"

"They - they know they're screwed already," he says, and now his voice is light, like he doesn't care. "I... anyone who's gonna be hurt would be hurt anyway. There's just... there's... someone I..." He stops, tries to focus and at least try and act like a normal human for once. "Just one thing. There's someone they took away, and I wanna find out what happened to her. I need to know, and... and try and... y'know. Fix things. After that? My schedule's open."

"Fair enough, I can work with that. Okay. So... we take it as it comes."

Shinji remembers Yutaka's worried face earlier; remembers the glances he's been getting all day as people notice first his limp and then how young he is. _Someone else who gets it_ sounds better than nothing right now - hell, it sounds really good. And it's not like he's got anything else he can do, is it? 

"Whatever," he says, and feels a faint flicker of the old grin on his face. " _We are the dead_ and all that."

"Oh, geez, not another Orwell fanatic." Kawada gets to his feet. "Let's get moving. Barkeep didn't ask questions but when's that ever meant damn all? We wanna be out of Shiroiwa by night. Sound good to you?"

There's silence for a moment, apart from the clink of glasses in the other room. That's something else that will always sound like home, but really? _That_ home was lost when Uncle died. _Should've guessed then I was on borrowed time._ And following Kawada could easily make it a lot more borrowed, but at least he won't have to pretend he buys the party line. _And no more pitying looks._

He nods. "Sure -" and follows Kawada to the door. 

__

Someone came back. Maybe not the guy who went in, but someone came back. _Came back and I'm gonna bring it to 'em, make 'em pay._ Or something, as Kawada said. It's not like he has any other choice. _And at least I'm doing something with this. Back on the court, y'know? Game on._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A LiveJournal pal of mine, rushikayu13, wrote a sequel/sidestory to this, about Yutaka and Hirono. Rating: PG-13.  
> Link: http://rushikayu13.livejournal.com/97629.html?view=170845#t170845


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He pictures a door cut out of musty green seats and a girl's fingers tapping away on her phone and the white-grey sky hemmed in by rattling windows that don't close. Pictures it opening. Tries to see what's behind it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for 12daysChristmas challenge on LiveJournal, prompt "eleven opened doors".

1.

On one of those tiny local trains that makes you feel like you’re in some kid’s railway set. They’ve taken a lot of these since leaving Shiroiwa – you can make it on without needing a ticket, and their funds are pretty tight. Plus, CCTV’s either non-existent or it’s twenty years newer than anything else so stands out a mile against worn signage about giving up your seat to old ladies. Also, if you get the time of day right, the train’s packed because it’s the only one to get home on for all the people who live in Middle-of-Nowhere Town.

Shinji said, _Won’t they clock us as strangers, then?_ and Kawada said, _Most people aren’t dumb enough to eyeball their fellow travellers. Specially if they think there’s something dodgy about us. They’ll try and forget they ever saw us. Safer that way. And we just keep our heads down, act normal._

Shinji wanted to say, _Oh, right, that’s where I’ve been going wrong_ but it wouldn’t actually be funny, times being what they are. 

They’re making like they don’t know each other. Kawada’s strap-hanging at one end of the carriage. A baggy cap, pulled down over his ears, hides most of his face, but Shinji can tell he's giving the frosty ground and bare fields the old thousand-yard stare which his face always drops into when he thinks no one’s watching him. When someone is watching him, he scowls. Shinji’s in two minds about whether that’s an improvement.

Not that Shinji’s not grateful to him.

Not that Shinji doesn’t owe him a hell of a lot more than he can ever pay back.

His thoughts are slower than they used to be but he can reel off some lists pretty well and this is one of ‘em. Kawada talked to him when all he knew was Shinji had been sent to jail for two years for anti-government activity. Kawada spelt out _You’ve only been let out to see if you can take others down with you_ , any dreams of real freedom DOA. Kawada made him get his ass in gear and get out of Shiroiwa and has been doing all the thinking for the two of them ever since, and if he’s also thinking how Shinji has this really distinctive limp these days which not only’ll prevent them running if they do get spotted but draws too much attention, then… he’s keeping it to himself. _No need, though, Kawada m’man. Not like both of us don’t know it._

The list’s turning into a run, like skidding down a stony slope. _Stay frosty. Not too hard in this weather, is it?_ Shinji breathes out, hot breath into the scarf wrapped round his face. Not that it makes anything warmer. Podunk local trains don’t usually have heating, either. That’s good, something real and now. His fingers ache even in gloves. Old lines of pain feel like they should be glowing white in this kind of weather. A cluster of students standing in the aisle in front of him. Two are chatting about assignments, one’s texting, two others are reading. Shinji’s not staring at them, of course, any number of reasons why you don’t want to do that. He’s keeping his eyes on the floor, on their feet. Neon-yellow lace-up trainers. High-heeled suede boots. 

It’s the not-feeling-real bit again. 

The first few days after he was out, he was just dazed more’n anything else. Being outside, and being allowed to talk to people and to choose which direction to walk in and when, that’s a bit of a shock to the system after two years without. You know? And Kawada obviously knew it, too, because he was like _We need to go here_ or _Keep your head down_ or _Here. Eat_ and not much else and no _god, can’t you think for yourself for once_ which was good because Shinji doesn’t know how he’d have defended himself against that charge. He knows that in theory, when someone accuses you of something that’s true, that there are any number of ways of dealing with it. You can admit it and laugh, or you can throw a jibe back at them, or you can shove the conversation onto something way less serious, or you can say nothing and swear you’ll say nothing and lie and lie and lie and they’ll get it out of you anyway because when it comes down to it there's nothing you can do to –

_Come on. Don’t think about it, remember? They want you to think about it. They want you to be so scared you’ll go turn yourself in at the next stop._

And that’s put his train of thought – said train being even more creaky than what he's riding in now – out of order. Back on track. The point was, the point is he started off dazed and now sometimes he veers into _remember that time when they_ but mostly, mostly it just feels like he isn’t quite touching the ground? Or that there’s something behind all this, behind the frost and the scratched windows and the clouds of breath and the students and their feet on a dusty floor, that it's all just a painting on a sheet.

Something better or worse? He’s not a hundred per cent on that. It’d be understandable if his mind was trying to think up a dream palace to replace reality. Reality’s not been great. But on the other hand he’s alone with the memory of the nastiest parts, so maybe that’s what’s behind. All real but no one else can see it.

He pictures a door cut out of musty green seats and a girl's fingers tapping away on her phone and the white-grey sky hemmed in by rattling windows that don't close. Pictures it opening. Tries to see what's behind it. Which, okay, _is_ crazy talk, but he'd like to know which kind of crazy he is. Tries to see, but there's just blackness. Not even dark. The world's been painted onto a wall and he's peering backstage but there's nothing behind it.

Train's rattling to a halt.

_Game on. Down the court. Go through the motions._ He drags himself to his feet. Standing hurts more – had the weight off his foot for too long. Kawada's already disappeared into the crowd. He doesn't bitch about waiting for ages in the cold, either. Just stands there smoking and glowering. Shinji starts to make his step-by-twisted-step across the platform. _No pain. Forget the pain._ One foot in front of the other, even if it feels like he's walking to nothing.

2\. 

_Okay, so tonight he's back in the hospital._

_No, not yet. They've taken him out of the room where they were working him over, and out of Kamon's office beyond it, and now... now they're in an elevator. He's sitting down, his head slumped against one shoulder. Grimy metal walls. He can hear his own breathing. He sounds hoarse and raspy. He can hear his own breathing and he can feel his ribs rising and falling and he clearly wasn't present a few moments ago because now he is and it hurts. He hurts. He hurts and – he's trying to think himself to calm down but he doesn't remember how and – it's really fucking bad, it – like he can't think except **something bad** – _

_He's breathing and it's turning into a sort of moan which is, which is worse than the screaming because at least he got used to hearing himself do that? This, it, he's never heard himself like this, he sounds like he's dying, he –_

_Stop._

_The elevator stops and he's moving forward. Being moved forward. Like his viewpoint's a camera and he's being carried. Doesn't know where he is. It **hurts** it hurts and he can't –_

Wake up. 

Gluey darkness. Kawada's rough breathing somewhere off to the left. The smell of cigarettes and musty blankets.

His mind is up and running but only back into the past. _He's lying down in the dream, too. Lines of lights above him. He looked at the lights mostly. You could turn your head and look at the other people, in the other beds, but why would you want to? Not to mention he doesn't want to see people looking at **him**. Hey, yeah, pretend he's broken a leg on the b-ball court, pretend he's in Shiroiwa General and any minute now his friends are gonna burst in with grapes and good wishes._

This is the present-him doing the pretending. Past-him didn't have to pretend, not at first. They doped him up as soon as they got him there – makes sense, you want everyone quiet and calm and not thinking about the clusterfuck their lives have become – and it rolled over him and he was trying not to let it, he was screaming that he had to keep thinking, he couldn't buy into it, but of course there was nothing he could do. 

“Yeah.” Kawada's sitting up, resting his arms on his knees. “Morphine's a bitch that way.”

Shinji didn't realise he was talking out loud. He and Kawada don’t exactly _talk_. He casts around for something else to say. God, remember when he just said what he knew was the right thing, didn’t even think about it? 

“They… they all showed up,” he says. “For real, I mean. Yutaka and Shu, and Yoshitoki and Sugimura.”

_I thought you'd bailed on me_ , he said.

_Come on, Mim, why'd you think we'd do that?_ Yutaka's sitting at the end of the bed, cross-legged like he's just done meditating. _We came to see you, just they wouldn't let us in til now._

“They talk to you?” Kawada says.

“Yeah. Well. Sometimes I was hearing them and sometimes it was like I just knew what they'd said.”

“What’d they say?”

“Usual crap they always said. Shu going on about rock music. He was trying to think of songs about hospitals. And…”

And.

“And Yutaka was... he was trying to make me laugh. He kept saying, _C'mon, Mim, you're never usually this down_ because… because he didn’t know what’d happened. I was… gonna tell him and I couldn’t... I couldn’t say it. Like I thought it wouldn’t be obvious, you know?” That was supposed to sound like a joke but it doesn’t. It sounds like he’s taking all this way too seriously. “He didn't know I'd... screwed up and I couldn't tell him. You know. Had to be the one who’s always right.” 

Silence for a few moments before Kawada says, “Well, that's bullshit.”

Shinji wants to say _I know, right_ but he isn’t sure if he does. These days he keeps thinking back to meeting Yutaka – the real Yutaka – in the café the day he got out. Wishing it hadn’t happened. _Because you didn’t want them to know how much of a screw-up you are now. Like if you don’t run into any of them, you can pretend that really you haven’t changed._ Same reason why he lied to a bunch of hallucinations.

He tries to say something airy like _Man, guess I was sleep-talking just now – bet you're regretting teaming up with me –_ but of course now the words fall away as he reaches for them. He shouldn't have even started this, it’s just giving the crazy a foothold –

Kawada carries on, “Trust me, they wouldn't have needed to hear you admit you were wrong. Don't make some trip out to be the truth you tell yourself. You weren't opening up any doors with what they put you on.”

“How would you know?” Shinji can hear the – oh, god, this is pathetic – the jealousy in his voice. _They were my friends, not yours._ Or wanting to know more than Kawada about _something_. 

A shrug in Kawada's voice. “I heard 'em talking any number of times. Particularly Nanahara, because man does he have a fine carrying voice. Yeah, they were in shock it was you got busted. _Mim's perfect, Mim never messes up anything._ After a few weeks they got you were gone for real. That you'd got caught out somehow. Big fucking deal. They didn't need you to confess anything to 'em, they knew what they needed to know and it didn't matter. Still wanted to see you back.”

_And a fat lot of good that did, right?_

_That’s not the story we’re gonna tell._

He rolls over, pulling the blanket more tightly around himself. “I should. I. I should.” _Yeah, real smooth, totally not having a breakdown over here, totally fooling everyone. I'm still me, none of it happened, staying frosty, keeping cool,_ he bites down hard on the side of his wrist until the pain resets him. Back on the ground. He waits to fall asleep again.

3.

Second morning here. Some run-down apartment with worn grubby tatami flooring. Clearly only ever used to hide convicted felons, carry out drug deals, or shoot really, really low-budget porn. 

First day, the not-feeling-real got so bad he felt like he was on time delay. That, and a nasty sense of not being able to touch anything, or like there wasn’t anything there to touch. He lay wrapped up in sleeping bag and blanket thinking _get up, I should get up_ but the whole concept was too abstract to wrap his head around.

He expected Kawada to lose it with him for good this time – _I’d have lost it with me days ago_ – but Kawada just said to him, _Sit up_ , and _You should eat, if you can. Reckon you can?_ Shinji managed a few mouthfuls of rice, but putting real food into a body that’s got some doubts about its status was way too exhausting to keep up for long.

_I gotta go out,_ Kawada said, _talk to some people, get some stuff. Stay here and keep your head._

Shinji did manage to come back with some half-formed joke about abandoning your teammate to feed your crippling nicotine addiction, which felt like progress. And today’s better – unreality is back to baseline levels – so maybe it was.

Kawada returned with a few days’ rations, a small radio, a laptop, and the means to set up an incredibly non-legal and apparently non-traceable Internet connection. The laptop, now wired up and awake, is still sitting on the battered little table at the side of the room. Shinji's trying to avoid looking at it. They’re keeping the curtains drawn and the lights off, so even in daylight avoiding looking at something is pretty easy. Still. He can feel it’s there.

Rattle of crockery from the tiny kitchen area. Kawada's making them both coffee. _Man, I don't even take a turn at the coffee run. I should get on that. Though it'd be more of a coffee limp._

_We sit tight for a while_ , Kawada said, or is saying, or will say. _This baby’s got a lot of locks to try’n pick._

_It works – we get through all doors - then we get a direct line into the security team’s database of Persons of Interest. We pull it off, we can see if your girl attracted the wrong kind of attention._

Just like that. 

Shinji nodded and said _cool_ like he didn’t give a damn either way but the laptop’s now sitting in his consciousness like an unexploded bomb. Stupid. Whatever happened, if anything did, will have happened two years ago. Nothing he can do now. Hell, even if they even only caught up to his aunt last week there's nothing he can do.

Kawada walks back over, hands him one of the mugs, sits by the laptop and lights up. Blows smoke. Glances at the screen. At Shinji. Watching and smoking.

(“it isn’t going to get any better, you know”)

Mostly Kamon doesn’t show up. Like the fucker knows he doesn’t need to. But the smell of smoke, and someone absently inhaling and watching you slowly lose it, it brings back old memories. It brings back someone who'll say all the stuff Shinji doesn't want to think.

_Holding out hope?_ Fake pity. _Maybe Auntie Dearest flew the coop before we could track her down? And you so keen to pretend you’re not an idealist…_

This isn’t real but it feels real. A lot more real than the dingy room and the rustle of sleeping bag and the coffee, which could all fall away any moment.

_Oh, don’t pretend you’re not wondering what happened to her. How long she lasted, mm? Whether she beat your record, held out for a little longer – not that **that's** difficult…_

_Or perhaps your interest is more carnal? You were one for the ladies… and a lot of men prefer it when they scream. I know I do._ A wink. _Why don’t you admit it? Not like any girl would **choose** you now, is it? Not now. You must be getting desperate._

_And she knew, after all. “All superficial”, mm, isn’t that what she said about you? Nothing but tits and ass and being too cool for the room…_

_Don’t take your anger out on me. You hate the bitch, after all – oh, don’t lie. Please, don’t put us through **that** embarrassing display again. You were thinking, all that time, every minute of it, you were hoping she might be able to fix it, weren’t you? Auntie and Uncle swooping in like the cavalry rather than leaving you to stick it out? Like you were a key figure in the revolution… that’s the sad thing, of course, we spent all that time on you and you’re not even a footnote. _

_Oh… now that struck a nerve. Don’t like not being the star, do we? Don’t like not being the big man on campus? And you thought you were being so brave before –_

This is going to stop. Now. He and Kamon need to learn he is not going to do this.

“Give us…” He indicates the cigarette. Kawada, frowning, hands it over, begins, “Don’t make yourself puke –” and the rest of the sentence is drowned out as Shinji mashes the glowing orange tip into the back of his hand.

_**Hurts**_ – and the world shrinks to a nail of pain except for Kawada, from far away, saying, unimpressed but unsurprised, “For fuck’s sake. Anything else of mine you want to use to be a moron?”

They’re by the kitchen sink. Kawada has yanked him forward, is holding his hand under cold water. His teeth are chattering like too much cold is the problem. 

“Don’t pull that kind of shit again. You listening? For one thing, they’re my smokes, not yours.”

Through the rushing water and the pain below it he’s saying, “Sorry. I was… I was trying to make something stop.” No. “Stick. Make something stick.”

“Right. ‘Cause it’s that easy. You know,” Kawada says, sounding slightly less grumpy, “I used to think like you do. Like it’s all a matter of logic. Like you can program in the feelings you want.”

“That’s not… that’s not what I meant. Just…”

“No? Gonna try to convince me you don’t think Shinji ‘Third Man’ Mimura has too much style to let government-sponsored interrogation and juvenile hall actually get to him? You do know I don’t give a shit whether or not I’m partnering with the coolest kid in school?”

_Fuck him –_ Shinji is trying to yank his hand out from under the water, “Okay, I didn’t ask for the psych analysis – ” Kawada grips his wrist harder. “The longer you cool it, the less likely we got to deal with big-ass blisters. So suck it up.”

Rushing water.

“Okay,” Kawada says at last. “I’ll lay off the psychoanalysis if you lay off the self-harm. We’ve got enough people lining up to give us a world of pain without us joining in. Deal?”

Shinji’s nodding and smiling and saying, “Deal.” Kawada glowers at him like he knows he's lying, but lets go of his wrist and heads back over to watch the laptop.

4.

Coming off the morphine wasn’t much better. Like waking up and finding you’re still in the nightmare. He came back into himself and there were so many creaks of pain, when he moved his fingers or his feet, when he blinked or sneezed. Even the skin around his nose, under his eyes, felt puffy and thin.

When he was still in the hospital it was okay because even with the pain he spent most of the time dozing off. That first day they moved him back to the regular lock-up, that was… that wasn’t a good day. He knows it wasn’t good because he can get himself back there now, in his head, like he’s worn a space for it in his brain. Step into it – or fall into it, more like, he doesn’t reminisce about this stuff for fun – and it’s all still there like a time capsule. It's the light. The grey lack of light and the draughts. 

“Reckon it’s going to snow.” Kawada’s glancing at the gap in the blind. “I should make a last supply run if so. ‘Fore I start leaving footprints. Anything you want?”

_Can you pick me up a new brain while you're out?_

The burn on the back of his hand – it has started to blister, fat shiny white like a fingernail – still hurts and it just _itches_ , too, he keeps wanting to claw it off. But that’s good. It makes sense. Keeps him pinned to the here and now. Kind of.

It was. That day. It was. His memories come back about halfway through it – he figures the shock of actually standing up and being fully conscious erased the earlier half, the bit where they gave him a new set of boil-washed clothes that weren't blood-spattered and whatever else they do to you when you're discharged from a prison hospital. He's in a cell. He's kneeling on the floor, next to the futon and blanket they gave him. He's got his arms round himself and he's digging his fingers into his arms and he's trying to focus on his breathing. One breath in. One breath out.

“I'm. I'm okay.”

Kawada gives him a _Yeah, right_ look but then just shrugs. Shinji wonders what he would've done if Kawada had actually called him on the act. _Okay, you got me. Actually I'm completely bugfuck crazy, like right now I'm getting panic attacks just from the **walls** , pretty impressive, huh?_

Back in the past. In a cell. Breathing. They say it helps. _Take a deep breath and calm down._ He doesn't... the last time he was that not-calm, Uncle had died and... he was like, _What do I say? What do I do?_ Yeah. That's it, recognition, a puzzle piece dropping into place. This feels like that. You're who you are, life is pretty sweet, conversations are just another bit of code you can hack, and then suddenly there's something it seems like _you_ were never designed to handle.

Because you tell yourself to stay frosty or make the shot like that'll fucking help. Like it helped the last time, when you were so stupid and arrogant you thought you were some kind of goddamn genius, getting away with lying to the government, and now every word you even _think_ is reminding you of that. And they did what they did and you could do _nothing_ to make them stop and if they want, they can fetch you right now and do it again. Just think about that. Just for a minute. You thought if you held out long enough, what, someone would come and rescue you? You'd figure out a way to escape? You can picture yourself thinking your stupid amateur tactics would do a fucking thing to help and you can't stand to be in your own skin any more.

A breath and another breath and this one sticks in his throat and comes out as some sort of gasp like he's about to start hyperventilating. He's not going to go down that route so he abandons the zen meditation and goes for breathing alternated with punching himself in the leg as hard as he can. It sends jagged teeth down his fingers and he probably looks just as psychotic as he would hyperventilating but the point is not to make any noise. 

He keeps this up for a while until the crazy's been beaten back. Okay, no, that's not true. Every so often he eases off, goes still, and he does all right for a bit until he starts picking up on where he is, the no windows, the thick silence, the twisted-round pain in the foot they made him stand on before. So then he goes back to punching himself in the leg or slamming one hand into the other and it's the longest afternoon, or morning, or whatever, in the history of the world, but eventually an alarm sounds, once, and they come and unlock the door and he follows a bunch of other dissidents and undesirables and delinquents down to the dining hall. And then he can look at other people and that distracts him from the endless _seriously, what the hell do I do_ loop in his head.

The loop's still playing now.

He's sitting in the empty apartment with the blankets round his shoulders and Kawada glancing out again at the weather and everything is different and he can't stop feeling like he's starting out on that first day. He. He literally can't stop feeling it. He's scrambling around for something to say, some way to get out of the feedback loop but nothing. 

Kawada is glancing at him again and this time he's frowning. He's saying something but you know when you're too terrified to hear something? Even when you know there's nothing to be terrified of, at least, not right in the room with you? Yeah. That. And there are ways to fix this, you have to fix this, but he can't remember what they are –

Kawada is saying to him, _Stand up. Come on._ Okay, he can do that. Just about. The cold makes his leg ache more, which doesn't help, makes him think of things he could really do without. 

_Come get some fresh air._

The rattle of keys in the front door. Icy air rushing up the stairwell. The concrete steps are blurring like he's in one of those optical illusion paintings. Swallowing. Too much spit in his mouth. He hears someone say, “I must... I must look pretty bad... you're cool being seen in public with me.” He knows it's him but he is, he is kind of in pieces. A foot on the top step, trying to keep balance. Cold hands in his pockets. Still kneeling on the apartment floor. Hearing doors slam.

Outside they stand in the porch. The click of Kawada's lighter. The sky white above them. A streetlamp flickers on and off. Shinji takes another deep breath and this time it actually helps, maybe because it's air that hasn't been shut up in an empty room for days.

Kawada makes a sound like he's about to say something, then sighs, just blows smoke at the sky. Shinji's watching it dirty up the white light and staring at a flock of crows swirling around the rooftops. He's just feeling like all of him's back in one place again when he lets his gaze slide onto the pavement opposite and he sees Shuuya Nanahara staring back at him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Shinji can see he’s won but it doesn’t feel like winning, it feels like he got cut up almost as badly."

5.

Kawada wrenches the front door of the apartment open and Shinji half-expects to see Yutaka drumming his heels on the floor, Yoshitoki making tea at the kitchen counter – hell, Uncle working on the laptop and his parents side-eyeing everyone else from the balcony – his entire life to date squashed into one moment.

If Shuuya could've just waited five goddamn minutes to show up, _until I had my head together properly, until I wasn't freaking out over nothing_ , but he didn't and Shinji's trying to, like, trying to run the code and keeps hitting loops. He's scared (of nothing) and he didn't get a chance to cool down so there must be something to be scared _of_ and if he doesn't get it together Shuuya will notice something's off and _yeah, please, come and take a good look, get to know the crazy me –_

Kawada slams the door behind them and _that really does not fucking help_. Shinji reaches out, puts a hand against the wall. It seems to rock against his palm and he feels even sicker. Shuuya is already looking over at him, frowning, but thank god Kawada goes right in with, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Never mind me, what are _you_ doing here?” Shuuya's staring from one to the other of them. “I didn't know you and Mimura said more than two words to each other –”

“My social life – not your concern,” Kawada snaps back. “What is my concern is avoiding attention. How did you find us and have you got _any_ way to convince me you weren't followed?”

“I had no idea you were here. Geez, Mim, you think if I hadn't known I wouldn't have come and –” He's looking at Shinji like they had a deal, like Shinji's let him down. And behind that, there's still the holy-shit-you-look-terrible face. Shinji is this close to telling him to step closer and get a fucking eyeful.

“So you just happened to be wandering around the dodgy side of town and ran into two of your old classmates?” Kawada says. “Think I'm stupid?”

“I had...” Shuuya glances round the apartment again. The jacked-up laptop, the lack of furniture, the blankets and sleeping bags strewn across the floor, all of it screaming, _We're on the run and up to no good._ “I had some stuff to do here, I was heading back to the station and I thought I'd take a look around...”

“Or someone told you it'd be a big help if you kept an eye out for us,” Kawada says. “They wanted us home for the big junior high reunion. That it?”

Shinji hadn’t even thought of that. _It couldn't be. Not Shu. He wouldn't buy into anything with even a sniff of selling out your friends –_

Shinji's about to actually say it – Shuuya's already into the whole _go to hell, I'd never_ speech – and his own thoughts throw back, _Mim would never betray anyone, Mim would never get caught, Mim always knows the right thing to say and his skills are second to none –_

Why can’t he think straight? Why does everything always skid off-road? Someone's got into his head, something, he should be able to work this out, if someone's bullshitting him he should be able to see it, _I can't, I don't know what to do –_

He's trying to speak and the words aren't lining up. They're both looking at him; Kawada with the usual resignation, Shuuya with horror as if Shinji's re-enacting that bit in that film when the alien bursts out of your chest. He stares back at them and he can't think of _anything_ to say, let alone anything right –

Slung across Shuuya's back is the black shape of a guitar.

Shinji stares and he's back in the hottest summer in years and Shuuya is leaping from the orphanage climbing frame yelling _The music is the message –_

“You.” The words try to slide away from him, but he digs his nails into his hand, keeps his balance. “You've brought your guitar. Bit... bit of a trek to...” He doesn't want to talk, talking feels like suicide, but _just one word. Just one, then another._ A path through the dark. “Bit of a trek just to... take it for a walk. You... you busking these days? Or putting – or putting on a show?”

Shuuya stares at him for a moment. Looks round again at the oh-so-illegal apartment. 

“Not just me,” he says, lowering his voice. “A bunch of people. They're setting up gigs in venues off the radar. I come up early so I can walk around, make sure no one's... no one's on my tail.”

Kawada breathes out and looks a little less like he's about to murder Shuuya and hide the corpse under the floor. “Right. Should've guessed. What is it, a collective? Rock'n'roll and photocopied manifestos at the door? How long've you been pulling this kind of stupid shit?”

“Hey, some guys needed a guitarist,” Shuuya says, looking injured. “I heard about it a couple of months ago, done about three shows now and it’s been fine. Better than fine – look, never mind what _I'm_ doing, what are _you_ doing here? Mimura, I didn't realise you were – you were out until Ms Ryoko told me –”

Shinji stares at him, baffled, and Shuuya says, more calmly, “She heard you'd gone to your parents and... you know, they'd told you to take a walk. She was asking me if I'd seen you.”

“Why?”

“She didn't want you to be sleeping on the streets, Mim. She remembers you. You know, that summer I was having my rock awakening and you were over every other day? She said _oh yes, the confident good-looking one who was so nice to the kids –_ ”

Like it's a fucking joke. Like it's so _hilarious_ how much he's changed.

“Shut up,” he's saying. “Stop. Shut up. I didn't... I didn't ask you to show up just...” Shuuya's staring with his slicked-back Springsteen hair and his rock and roll heroism and he's saying, “Woah, look, I didn't... I didn't mean anything by it. I just... I figured you were sleeping rough and I wanted to find you, but I didn't know where to look. You don't... you don't know how good it is to see you're okay.”

“Hey.” Kawada's voice cuts through everything. “Save the reunion. I want to hear more about this band you're forming. Need to know how much shit we're in now you've run into us. You know?”

Shuuya's starting to speak. Explaining how they put on covert protests in undisclosed locations, how they take precautions to avoid being raided, how none of them have any clue who the real organisers are. He gives all the details and keeps snatching glimpses of Shinji and he's clearly getting spooked because he just keeps talking.

“Some of 'em are really into the whole... you know, different political argument things, and half the time there's loads of bickering, but they're all figuring we need to break the stranglehold against musical expression. Rock preaches social change, individualism, born to run, all that – and it's capitalist Western corruption into the bargain, anti-Republic to the hilt – so we figure, start disseminating that among the people and –”

Shinji didn't even know he was going to _throw_ the punch before he did it. He was just screaming in his thoughts that he had to make Shuuya _shut up_. Shuuya staggers backwards, hand to his mouth. One spot of blood hits the tatami floor. Then another.

Shuuya is looking at him like he's something to be scared of.

“You don't.” His throat aches. “You don't get it. You fucking idiot. It’s. That’s just. Just what you tell yourself. To make yourself feel better. It's. It's not real.”

He waits for Shuuya to come back with a naïve counter-argument, but Shuuya doesn't say anything. He just keeps looking at Shinji like... like things are really bad, _like I lost an eyeball or something._ Which is not helpful because Shinji is working really hard on convincing himself things _aren't_ really bad and if Shuuya could just stop rubbing it in –

_Yeah, when I’m the one throwing a fit over nothing._

“I'll... I'll get some air. Sit out on...” Waves a hand in the direction of the little balcony. They keep looking at him.

He staggers outside, sinks down onto cold concrete. The sky is grey above him.

6\. 

The balcony remains cold and Shinji's pretty sure he looks like he's sulking, but being outside without anyone giving him awkward looks is literally the best situation he's been in for months. The sky is greying over even more, charcoal smears of black at the edge, and Kawada and Shuuya are still talking. Earlier, Shinji caught words like _manifesto_ and _anonymous_ and _borrowed drum kit_ , but now it sounds like the talk about Shuuya's rock career has changed into discussion of his crazy former friend. Words like _limp_ and _enforced silence_ and _they really worked him over_ are sliding their way through the glass. 

It's cold enough to start shivering but that's no big deal either, the slammer was ice cold ten months of the year (humid and stinking of feet the other two) and it's... something to focus on? The spasms running down his arms. His breath clouding in front of him. Yutaka would laugh. No, he wouldn't, he'd be shivering even more, _Mim, I'm literally turning into a human popsicle here, can't we go somewhere with walls?_ He grins, _Nuh-uh, little buddy, got to stay frosty –_

“Mimura.”

The glass door slides open again. Kawada is glowering at him. 

“One, get back in here before I have to treat your pneumonia. Two, I'm going to actually make that supply run. Try not to kill Nanahara while I'm gone.”

Shinji must’ve blinked because Kawada says, “I know it’ll be tough, but I got faith in you. I figure if he’s here, he’s not out there getting busted. Gonna keep an eye out when I go. See if it looks dodgy.”

Shinji expects to recoil at the idea of having to do the sorry-I'm-so-crazy spiel to Shuuya, but actually he's just tired. He scrambles back into the apartment – his leg is fucking _screaming_ , iced up with cold and stillness, and he barely makes it indoors before he slumps back onto the floor. Shuuya's doing the horrified staring again. Maybe staying literally frosty has actually helped, because Shinji manages to do something that could be a sarcastic bow of the head and mumble a line about welcome to the agility portion of tonight's programme.

Kawada's gone and Shuuya takes a deep breath and says, “Seriously, I think you've gone blue. Do you want me to make you some tea or something? If you get hypothermia I, I'm going to feel even worse.”

The words hang between them and Shinji's telling himself not to rise to the bait but keeping silent isn’t an option either.

“I'll do it.” The words stagger but at least he's said them. “Not like you've got a clue where anything is. And it's my leg that's fucked, not my... my hands. Actually.”

He's being a jerk and he knows it but maybe that's better than being a basket case? Maybe? He's pushing himself to his feet and it's probably better to walk on it, walk through the pain, sometimes he scares himself imagining just giving up, throwing a fit at the endless step-drag, step-drag and letting that of all things convince him it's not worth carrying on. Not hit that yet. Makes it to the kitchenette, tries not to lean his weight on the countertop too obviously.

“So I... I'm sorry,” Shuuya says, shifting to kneel on his hands but keeping his gaze up, that painfully sincere stare that hasn't changed a bit in two years. “I'm an idiot. Should've figured maybe you don't want to hear me sounding off about... about rebellion like I know it all.”

Which just makes things even worse because now Shinji's like, _what the hell did I even expect, it's **Shuuya** , distilled idealism and an encyclopaedic knowledge of rock lyrics in one handy package._ He never hauled off and punched the guy before – never punched _anyone_ just because he lost it – so he's pretty sure the problem isn't Shuuya.

“Shouldn't have smacked you one,” he mutters, like the shittiest apology the world has ever seen. “Not... dealing so well with... with the whole... school reunion thing.”

“Yeah. Well. Join the club.” Shuuya grins awkwardly. “Not that I've been there for months either.”

“You... you quit high school.” No. That's not what Yutaka said. “You got... _kicked out_ of high school.”

Shuuya glances away. “Um. Yeah.”

“Yutaka said it was because you... were pissed off about. About stuff.”

“Yes, Mimura.” Shuuya looks at him, frustrated: “Yes, I was pissed off about you almost certainly being _dead_. Really pissed off. Because you're my friend and you're the coolest guy I know and it actually _really sucks_ when your friend just goes missing. And you know exactly why and there's nothing you can do about it. And people get taken every _day_ but I only wake up to it when it's someone I actually care about, which didn't make me feel so great about _me_ either. So yeah. I was pissed off.”

Shinji stares at him and is like, _what the hell do you want me to do with all that?_ Geez, isn't it obvious he's got enough of his own emotion to manage without Shuuya dumping another load on him? _Yeah, I know it sucked, I was the one disappearing, remember?_ And Shuuya won't get it because he never does and he's a goddamn _idiot_ – 

Tea. He was going to make tea. Hands shaking. He can barely switch the kettle on.

“Don't make a... don't make a big deal out of it,” he manages to say.

Clearly not the right answer. Shuuya’s already half-yelling: “What – look, I was just telling the truth. And of course it was a big deal. It was a massive deal. We all figured you... you weren't coming back –”

“And I did, so –”

“No.” Shuuya's scrambling to his feet, the better to give the inspiring speech. “No, you didn't. You showed up for like a minute, your parents kicked you out and then you fled town. Like you... like there wasn't anything left for you. And now you're here and you look like hell and you can barely even walk and you're trying to say it's not a big deal?”

Probably lucky Shinji's not holding a mug at that moment because he is almost certain he'd have thrown it. 

“Right,” he is saying, and he sounds _vicious_ but so what, so fucking what, this is beyond a joke. “Oh, sure. I hadn't noticed. I thought I was _exactly the same_ until you pointed it out. Thank you so much, I would never have realised what was wrong.”

Shuuya starts, “Mim –” but Shinji's not going to eat the rage this time. Shuuya wants to do it that way? Fine. They'll do it that way.

“I am so, _so_ sorry,” he's carrying on, “that I couldn't hold it together for you. I mean, if I'd known we'd see each other again I'd have worked much harder not to go completely fucking crazy. I mean it's not like I'm _enjoying_ the nightmares and the flashbacks and the weird-ass reality detachment thing, but hey, if I'd known _you_ were going to be here I'd have just got over them like _that_ – ”

“That's not what I meant –”

“Then what did you mean exactly? Because the way you keep looking at me it certainly looks like you're pretty surprised about how fucked up I am –”

“Of course I'm _surprised_.” Shuuya marches towards him, glowers at him across the counter. “Because you've changed. And I knew you would've done but I didn't – I wanted you to be okay. I – you hear stuff and – I wanted you to be okay –”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“I _said_ , that isn't what I meant! I meant I didn't want it to have been as bad as... I didn't want things to have got bad for you. I tried to get my head round it but then I always ended up yelling at authority figures so I just – I wanted...”

“Right. So because _you_ can't keep your temper, _I've_ got to get myself back to normal so as to preserve your fantasy life. Thanks for clarifying.”

“No – look – you don't _have_ to do anything. I'm sorry I was staring at you. I'm sorry I made you feel like I was, I don't know, judging you or whatever. I wasn’t – I’m not blaming you or trying to give you a hard time. But it’s pretty difficult to, to just be cool with you... with you being hurt like that. Specially when I wasn’t expecting to see you and you suddenly appear.”

Shinji knows he's being unfair but the thoughts about _how the hell is any of this my problem_ are boiling away and it's kind of nice. He's been biting his tongue and choking down words for two years. Been months since he could get furious with anyone except himself. “Right. I'll call ahead next time.”

Shuuya looks at him like he can't believe anyone could be this unreasonable. Shinji meets his eyes: “What? Still don't get why I have to deal with you freaking out when you learn life isn't fair.”

Shuuya's eyes narrow and Shinji knows the guy is this close to saying something that crosses a line, a real line, and then Shinji can retaliate and – if this is a game it's fucking stupid but he wants to win it anyway, _go on, let's play chicken – trust me, I can hold out for way longer'n you –_

“Come on,” he says. “Clear it up for me.”

Shuuya snaps back at him, “You read Yutaka the riot act like this?”

Feint right, dodge left, ball's out of your grasp. Shinji finds himself clutching the edge of the counter like he's scared. Like he has something to be guilty about. “What?”

“Yutaka. You ran into him. Back in Shiroiwa. Far as I heard, you didn't rip him a new one for daring to give a damn about you.” Shuuya's voice is too loud, shaking. “Just wondering how come he gets a free pass and the rest of us not.”

Shinji's waiting for the next line to show up in his head and in the meantime all he can do is glare and stammer, “That's, that's not, that's nothing to do with anything –”

“Right, so it's definitely not like you figured you didn't need to impress Yutaka?” Shuuya throws the words at him, _huh, looks like someone else is taking the chance to cut loose_ – “Because Yutaka's Yutaka and he's impressed by anyone who's halfway nice to him? And, and, when _he_ looked at you like _holy shit_ , it was because he's the kind of guy who hates to see anyone miserable, whereas when I do it I'm clearly thinking _how dare Mimura not be perfect?_ Yutaka’s the only one who’s allowed to know you aren’t invincible?”

Shinji hears himself say, cold, sharp, “I know I’m repeating myself, Shu, but can you please tell me why _my_ jail sentence becomes all about you? ‘Cause I’m kind of clueless here.”

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Shuuya says, almost triumphantly. “You really think I’m so shallow I’ll be judging you for letting it all get to you –”

“Shuuya. Seriously. Shut up.”

Shuuya opens his mouth and closes it again and this time he stays quiet, gritting his teeth. Shinji can see he’s won but it doesn’t feel like winning, it feels like he got cut up almost as badly. He starts making the tea, trying not to slam the crockery around. _Back the fuck off_ , he’s telling himself, _let it die_ , but he’s so close to any number of comebacks – _Yutaka was making an effort not to freak out – Yutaka doesn’t preach revolution and being true to yourself while not knowing what the fuck he’s talking about – Yutaka’s always socially awkward but I figured you’d be able to handle it –_

Except there’s a sick rottenness in his gut that Shuuya’s got a point.

_Don’t like not being the star, do we?_

So what? So _what_ if maybe he doesn’t exactly _enjoy_ being face to face with someone who used to think he was _the coolest guy I know_? So what if he’s maybe a little bothered by having to show up lame, half-crazy, hardly able to speak and getting it wrong whenever he does? Wouldn't most people be? 

_Yeah, but you liked to think you didn’t care what other people think of you. Didn't you? You were you and faking it was for the birds? And now you are **pissed off** how everyone’s gonna feel sorry for you, because you actually really liked being the best. Isn't that right?_

Lashing out at Shuuya has pretty much proved the answer is _yes_.

Tea’s done. He puts Shuuya’s mug on the far side of the counter, wraps his still-cold fingers round his own. “Hey. I’d bring it over, but it’d be cold before I got to you.” That could’ve been a joke but it comes out way too bitter. Shuuya gives him an exasperated look, scrambles up to grab the tea. They both drink in silence. All the stuff already said hangs around them.

7.

The door opens, spilling in Kawada and a blast of colder air. Snow speckles his head and shoulders. 

“So, good news and bad news.” He puts a full carrier bag down on the floor. More snowflakes melting on its surface. “Bad news – Nanahara, someone tipped them off about your consciousness-raising. Streets round the club are swarming with cops, and people told me they’d seen a bunch of suspicious-looking anarchist types being taken off in a van. So I’d recommend you take a rain check.”

Shuuya stares at him, going pale. “You – you’re sure?”

“It’s pretty hard to miss.” Kawada lights up again. “And even if it isn’t your lot who’s triggered it, it still doesn’t look like a good day to be wandering around with a guitar on your back.”

“Well… what’s the good news?” 

“You’re here, not in an interrogation centre. Guess it’s lucky you ran into us. Lucky for you, anyway.” He glances briefly from Shuuya to Shinji. No doubt sensing the even-more-awkward atmosphere.

Shinji swallows and hears himself say, not wanting the answer, “How do we know it’s not us they’re looking for?”

“They’re _not_ here. And they looked pretty settled. Waiting for more people to rock up, not doing a sweep of the city.”

“So… we just sit tight and, and wait for ‘em to go away again?”

“You got a better idea? We don’t need to get out of here, and Nanahara should keep a low profile if he doesn’t want to end up like his bandmates.”

All of this makes sense but Shinji’s thinking of the potential for another stupid fight or another chance for Shuuya to witness him being psychotic and feeling sicker every second. Shuuya doesn’t look too happy either – already leaping up to say, “But we can’t just leave them…”

“Yes, we can.” Kawada glowers down at him. “Ain’t like we can do anything else. Unless you’ve got a bunch of superpowers you’ve been hiding for the last three years.”

“But they’re – they’re friends. They haven’t done anything wrong, we can’t just –”

Of course. Shinji cuts off the tide: “Hey, if you fancy finding out first-hand what it’s like getting slammed for anti-government activity, you should – you should go ahead. I wouldn’t recommend it, though.”

Shuuya gives him a look that’s part defiance, part – oh, geez, it’s _guilt_. Like Shinji was trying to say _you should have stormed the gates to get me out_. He sighs and he’s starting to say, “Look, I didn’t mean –” but Kawada interrupts: “This isn’t up for debate, Nanahara. You stay put or I lock you in the bathroom. You’re not taking us down with you no matter how much you want to play hero.”

Shuuya stares at him furiously but eventually sinks down again, resting his head in his hands. Shinji turns his head so the guy is out of his viewpoint. He sees Kawada instead, going to crouch down by the laptop. 

The laptop and its route to the truth. His stomach lurches. 

Kawada’s studying the screen. Eventually he nods, and a small grin flickers on his face. “Looks like I still got it. Or something like it. Okay, give me a minute or three –”

_No. No way._ Shinji has to bite his lip not to say it. _I changed my mind. I’m bailing. I’ll take Shuuya and we’ll go do something stupid and insurrection-y._ Why did he think knowing would help? It’ll just underline a hell of a lot of stuff that doesn’t need any more emphasis.

_Might not. She might be okay. Might’ve got out when she heard I’d been picked up. Yeah? Maybe you didn’t fuck up so bad after all –_ Like he’s telling fairy-tales to a kid. 

“Mim,” Shuuya whispers to him, “you… are you…”

“I’m fine, okay?” It’s almost a snarl, so it pretty much proves the opposite of what it says, but he can barely _see_ Shuuya any more, s’just Kawada and the glow of the screen and the tap of fingers on keyboard. Feels like they sit there for hours and all he can think is _not yet. Not now_.

“We’re in,” Kawada says, letting out his breath in a long sigh. “For the moment. Get over here. We don’t want to hang around.” He frowns. “No point looking for a name… but they cross-reference. Find your uncle, and…”

The stuff on the screen looks so normal. A pixelated graphic of the Republic flag. Look-up fields like any bureaucratic system. He’s typing MIMURA and a list of people sharing his name and probably a lot of other experiences by now are lining up. MIMURA, HAJIME. Uncle’s face, staring at the camera. Driving license photo or something. Seeing Uncle shrunk down and reduced to pixels and a paragraph of notes and a tick in a box marked DECEASED is worse than the funeral, the empty bar, everything. He’s all written up like he didn’t matter.

Known associates.

That gives him a record number for her. 

Digit after digit. Enter. 

Her face. 

Covert shot. Snapped coming out of her apartment or something. She looks like she’s thinking about something else. Sunglasses, the glint of the matching earring just visible as a dot of white.

There’s a tick next to DECEASED here, too. Shinji stares at it and is like, _is that all_ , and then, _maybe I’m reading it wrong, wouldn’t that be hilarious_ and then – he’s blinking, just to check, okay, and it’s not going away. Yup. Dead. 

Sliding his gaze down the screen.

Behind him, Shuuya begins, “Who…”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Junior high basketball court. Snowed over, just the hoops sticking out either end like a couple of dead trees. Yutaka kicking at the white."

8.

Everything white and still.

Someone is talking to him but it’s like talking in dreams, when the words don’t join up. 

He’s reading. Notes. _Subject located after extensive research. Subject’s activities monitored for signs of subversion. Subject apprehended attempting to leave the area. Subject suicided (pre-supplied cyanide capsule already on person) confirming subject’s guilt and involvement in illegal activities._

Well. Good. None of the kneeling and the pain and the getting your nose broken half an hour in. That’s. That’s good. Could be worse. No one else referenced, either. She cut off the trail.

“ _Mimura_.” Kawada, shaking his shoulder. Still far away. Voice muffled by snow. “I need to get out of their files. If there’s anything else you got to know, now’s the time to look for it.”

Shaking his head. _No. I reckon we’re good here. Thanks, Kawada m’man. Much obliged._ He can’t hear himself saying the words but he must’ve said them because Kawada is nodding, shoving past him to get to the laptop.

Shuuya, staring at him. “Oh, god. Mimura, I’m… I’m so sorry.”

_Hey, no need. Nothing to do with you, was it?_

A smile, to show Shuuya he means it, but Shuuya just keeps staring miserably at him like he's blaming himself anyway. Typical Shuuya. Another line looms out of the white. _Hey. Kawada. You pick up any booze in that supply run? Reckon we ought to raise a glass to you… that was a quality piece of hacking._

Kawada looks round at him, starts to say something, then stops, fumbles in his coat pocket. Pulls out a scratched, battered hip flask. “Might help with the shock. Nothing more. You're not going to drink yourself into a stupor, okay?”

It's whiskey, because of course it is. Burns, and he coughs, but makes himself smile through the tears: _Hey, my first drink in two years! Worth waiting for, I can tell you._

They're both still looking at him like he's having a breakdown after all and he's suddenly furious at them, _come on, I'm working really fucking hard to be normal, you could at least show you noticed._ He doesn't say that, though. That's not in the spirit of the thing. The whiskey's breaking down doors. The whiskey is breaking down doors and behind one of them there's nothing good. Fuck.

_Come on,_ he's saying, his back to the bad stuff, _come on, guys, stop looking at me like that. It's no big deal. I met her once, you know? She was a looker and she passed on a gift but that's all._ That's all. The words tangle as they leave his mouth, trying to twist into something else. _I mean, what'd you expect? It's all superficial with me – remember –_

_Remember?_

9.

Whiteness.

“Get yourself something to eat, you look like death.”

Shinji feels himself nod – well, someone nods – and that person thinks, _Yeah, food’ll be good, haven’t eaten all day_ and he waits for them to go look for some. He must’ve lost track of time because Kawada is shaking him again. “I told you to eat. Here.” A rice ball. Some dried fish. He can smell it. The thought of eating it is making him feel sick but he doesn’t know why. 

_I’m not. I’m not hungry. I’m good. Keep it for yourself. Or Shu can have it._

He’s leaning against the wall, blanket round his shoulders. The room is darker. Snow clouds. Nightfall. A torch on the floor, lit, half-under a blanket.

He was somewhere else a moment ago. 

Be good to go back there. Back through a door in the sky. He’s fine and all but he just doesn’t want to be here. Here feels like a wave poised to crash. Bad scene, time to split.

Junior high basketball court. Snowed over, just the hoops sticking out either end like a couple of dead trees. Yutaka kicking at the white. _Reckon if basketball was a winter sport I’d have a hope?_ Shinji laughs. _I dunno, little buddy, much more snow and it’ll be up to your chest._

_This was real,_ he says, _wasn’t it?_

Yutaka frowns.

_The last winter I was still around. We came down here and had a snowball fight. All of us, you and me, Shu and Yoshitoki, Sugimura… a bunch of the girls ended up joining in too, you remember?_

_Not Kawada, though_ , Yutaka says. Hands in his pockets. Breath condenses. _He didn’t show up for that kind of stuff. You tried to dunk a snowball through the hoop, remember that?_

It’s cold. It’s really cold and it hurts.

He wants to say _I remember_ but there isn't anything but the snow and the white ground and the sky and the truth of what happened hanging over it all. 

_Yutaka, I… I think I…_

Shivering so much he can hardly speak.

_I think I screwed up. I think… I think I…_

So cold the air hurts your mouth.

_I don’t know what to do._

Someone is awake. Someone is awake and it’s so cold and they’re shaking and the words are hot in their mouth. _I don’t know what to do._ They try to breathe. It hurts like their lungs are turning inside out but through the pain they say:

“What happened was it... it was my fault. See, I thought I’d got away with it. I was playing an angle and I thought it was gonna work.”

“Uh-huh. And they got wise?” Kawada, but quiet, almost gentle, like he's trying not to wake someone else up.

“It was... it was me. So... so full of myself that I was gonna manage it. And he saw it. He saw.”

“So he knew you had more to tell.”

“All I had to do was keep on not talking and... I just... I...”

“That’s why they pull that kind of shit. ‘Cause everyone says something in the end.”

_Doesn’t matter if you don’t know what to do_ , Yutaka says, scuffing his feet in the snow again. _I never do. And you screwed up? Um, hello? You forget who you’re talking to here? I don’t reckon –_ He’s bending down to make a snowball. _I don’t reckon anyone knows what to do, really –_ Straightens up, chucks it at one of the basketball hoops. Burst of white. _Just some of us know more’n others._

“Stop trying to convince yourself you don't care, is my advice,” Kawada says.

Sunlight on the bridge. His aunt smiles. The light reflected in her sunglasses as she pulls them off. Her eyes are filled with tears.

_It's the price we pay._

_It's why we love from the heart._

“Point is,” Kawada says, “you and I can pretend all we want we don't buy into the feelings shit. Doesn't make us right. Just like Shuuya can believe in the power of rock all he wants and the Republic's still standing no matter how many pirate radio stations spring up.”

_We were all sorry._ Yutaka shading his eyes to look out over the court. _Like you'd be if it was us._

Kawada begins, “I got…” and then, “Let’s just say my fuck-up trumps yours. I've been there. You spend a while trying to convince yourself it didn’t happen. It sinks in. It feels like shit. Then it still feels like shit but you… shape round it. Got to.”

Silence.

“You look at the dates? It was, what, six months after you got busted? She knew. She knew as soon as they took you that she was dead walking. She was ready for 'em, she had an easy out all prepared. What was that you quoted, _we are the dead_? Everyone is. They just don’t know it yet. You and I, we worked it out a little quicker.”

Someone is saying, through the sleepy dark, “Not Shuuya, though.”

“Ha. No. Guess it's good to have some people who’re maybe gonna stay clueless no matter what happens. Still… let’s work on keeping him that way, huh? Talk him out of the more dramatic acts of idealism.”

Snow melt. He's blinking, and blinking again, trying to pretend he isn't crying. Kawada probably sees right through it, but doesn't say anything. 

_He'll know if I bail again, though. Gotta see it through._

10.

So of course it's not all sunshine and rainbows after that. There's still a hell of a lot of insomnia, and spending too much time in bad memories, and walking slower than everyone else. But it's like he knows that shit now. He can face it. (He'd struggle to face it if the bad guys caught up with them in real life, of course, but isn't he meant to've learnt he's just like everyone else?)

Shuuya's playing a bunch of rock standards. Kawada's watching and smoking and looking like he wants to know how the hell he ended up in this situation. Shuuya is pounding his way through a particularly enthusiastic rendition of _Riders on the Storm – the world on you depends/our life will never end –_ when Kawada mutters something like maybe the prohibition of rock makes sense and Shuuya should stop giving their location away to all and sundry. Shuuya laughs: “Come on, you love it really. I saw you listening back in school and pretending you weren't. And besides, this place is gonna be soundproofed, right?” Shinji spends a lot of time listening to the other two talk – okay, listening to Shuuya talk – because his brain's got too much else on to engage in witty repartee, but he does manage to get in, “So you looked at it and thought _low-budget porn_ too, huh?” and they both start laughing.

There's no future and he knows it but sometimes he doesn't have to believe it.

“Still haven't expanded your repertoire,” he's saying. “You know anything that isn't designed to be played at amp-busting volume?”

Shuuya rolls his eyes but a little later he segues into some song Shinji remembers from Uncle's music. It was a soft, warm-voiced song, kind of makes him think of quiet evenings, though Shuuya's attempt at chilled acoustics does start to degenerate back into power chords. _There was a boy/a very strange enchanted boy_

“Stop it. Shu. I take it back. Stop mangling the classics.”

Shuuya keeps it up, laughing, and the smell of smoke tangles round the words and Shinji can see the bar, lights glinting in black-and-white floor tiles, Uncle watching him and saying –

_And then one day/one magic day he passed my way/and while we spoke of many things_

For a moment the memory's happy. 

_This he said to me_ and Shuuya stops goofing around and sings from the heart because it's Shuuya and he really believes this stuff –

_The greatest thing/you'll ever learn_

Shinji does bail on them this time because Shiroiwa and Uncle and junior high school suddenly all seem too far away and yet right there at the same time. 

_is just to love/and be loved_ –

He has to wrench to get the balcony door open – crusts of snow fall onto the glass – but then he's outside. The city's still covered in snow, but the sky is golden at the edges. He leans on the balcony wall and watches it. The blister on the back of his hand is shrunk down, hardening into scar.

11.

_Mimura,_

_I asked Kawada to give you this after I'd gone back. If all's gone to plan, I've snuck out before you were awake. I figured maybe we should skip the awkward goodbye, given how tough the hello was, right? No, okay, that's not true. I wanted to get this stuff out and I knew if I did it face to face I'd only ruin it by saying too much of the wrong kind of thing. Big surprise, huh?_

_I never did say I was sorry about all the stupid shit I said when we had that fight. So I'm sorry. I was a jerk. I was trying to get one over on you like we were arguing about, I don't know, basketball or whatever, because I wanted it to be like it was before because I'm an idiot. See? This is why I'm not saying it to your face because there'd only be punching._

_I'm an idiot and I hope you can see past that and remember me more as, I don't know, a rock god, or at the very least, someone who doesn't get it but at least knows he doesn't, thanks mainly to you. Well, to you and Kawada, who I think despairs of us both._

_Kawada says the two of you are making a move soon, going off to do something else badass and crazy. Maybe I'm paraphrasing. He just said you're moving on because you have stuff to do. I let that one lie, figured maybe I didn't want to know. Seems like telling you to be careful would be kind of redundant. Doesn't mean I'm not ordering you to keep yourself alive. Otherwise I'll immortalise you in a tragic power ballad. There, that's a threat for you._

_Guess you won't be showing up in Shiroiwa any time soon but if you ever did... well, do I need to spell it out? I'll be there if you need me. Believe it._

_PS your musical tastes remain woefully inadequate, but you're still the coolest guy I know. Believe that, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shuuya is quoting "Riders on the Storm" by The Doors and "Nature Boy", written by Eden Ahbez. I do not own either lyric.

**Author's Note:**

> Four quotes from George Orwell's 1984 included at points in this narrative. Not created by me!


End file.
